The windows are white with falling snow. Flakes hurry along their way, not only down, but to the right, and sometimes even upward. The streetlamps are on, lighting the way for the occasional sledding party, giving the scene a magical quality. A white Christmas seems guaranteed.
I am spending my unexpected day off cuddled in a down comforter given to me by an old friend and with a stack of books close at hand. Favorites of the week include When Things of the Spirit Come First by Simone de Beauvoir, The Art of Travel and The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton, The Romance of Tristan and Iseult by Bedier, and Don Juan by Moliere. TCM alternates with the local news reports keeping track of the snow totals, and my prosecco is as cold as the wind chill.
This has been a week of re-evaluation. My philosophy on life is being adjusted, and it’s about time. Fragments of conversations I’ve had on the existence, or non-existence, of free will, on the ability to believe in love in the face of experience, on the desire to shove open the door and take part in life mirror the swirling of the snow outside my window.
I feel the end of an era as this year closes. 2010 looms large with possibility, and true to my nature, I find myself melancholy in the face of change. It’s change I want, but the loss of the familiar and the status quo is always a bit unsettling.
Today is a very good day.