These pale-toned winter days with their slanted light, and the coolness of the air bearing  successive faint smells that enfold each locality in finely detailed allusions, flowers, animals, paint, frying pans...The squint inseparable from bright daylight, the sadness of evening. There is an intimacy to it, a kind of after-love, that wants to speak the first slow words that grow out the silence without denting it.