Silence

Due to some incident I have lost my language and will use another one to express myself. If language is the blood that runs through an author's veins, a substitute language is some kind of plasma-expander to keep him alive in times of insufficiency.

Winter came. Snow covers the earth, ice seals the roads. You learn to drive carefully. Wind blows the snow from one spot to the other. Either you are frozen, or you loose the grip.

Chrismas is on the doorstep, smell of candles and cookies - familybusiness. Nothing but a sad thing when you are a left-over. Like last year my flat is getting colder, the heating can't cope with the cold. I can cope with woollen blankets, socks and gingertea. Going to bed early is good against wrinkles ;-)

He warms my heart.

And for the rest: silence.

.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

(Robert Frost. Stopping by woods on a snowy evening)