en hiver

or "the winter", in french. 'one kind word can warm three winter months' - old japanese proverb. clearly, the japanese were delusional.

as her endlessly gloomy, gray face comes closer and closer to mine until i can see nothing else, and her icy-cold breath cuts right through my soul, i shut my eyes tight. at least that way maybe i can see the light. and i wonder how, just how did so many rishis and munis survive the himalayan peaks? if only i had an iota of their strength.

like keats, i console myself, with winter here, can spring be far behind?