FALLING FLAKES

Dearest Danda -

It is late here in STT, and you are probably headed, head down, to the hospital for the latest assault. In all honesty, I should say that I will exchange myself with you. Again, in all honesty, I am not sure. So there is my "humanity" front and center! But, as you know me, deep down, you know I would, if I could.

But to other things - The picture of your patio, snowbound, was an enchantment in its special monochromatic way. I hasten to have you look further at it. Indeed, look into it. Surely you realize that in that small space of ivy-covered walls and frigid wrought-iron furniture, millions upon millions of snowflakes lie intertwined in a froth of white ice; EACH UNIQUE; ONE-OF-A-KIND! Now step outside your door onto Stratford Road. Now head down Kensington High Street, walk through Kensington Gardens, head in which ever direction you choose, and there is London laid low by something we truly cannot explain beyond the lack of proper winter preparation. Picture the Himalayas, snow-crowned; Mt. Fujiyama; Mt. Monadanock for that matter; the Andes.....Gazillions of snow flakes, each different and unique? I can't prove it, but I hear tell it is true. As Isabella would say, "Wowsie, wow, wow!". I have to take a huge leap of faith to even begin to comprehend it. When you are at your lowest ebb, physically, think about this remarkable phenomena. It will probably put you to sleep, perchance to dream, and when you wake, it will be a few hours later on the road to feeling better, stronger. One step at a time, one hour, one minute. One snowflake.

By the way, check out the picture of Westminster Bridge taken February 2nd. It reminds me of the following composed many years ago, albeit on a warmer day!

Earth hath not anything to show more fair;

Dull would he be of sprirt who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty;

The city now doth, like a garment, wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie

Open unto the fields and to the sky,

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In its first splendor valley, rock, or hill;

Ne,er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! The very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Read that to the commuters from Wimbledon the other morning! They would have lynched you! But, as you say, NOT IN BOSTON! Let's hear one for the Colonies!

Take care, lovely lady. LSC