ontology | goodnight

I am very hungry for magic to-night but I do not know where I am going to get any. It has been snowing all week, and I miss loving snow, but mostly I miss warm weather, when one can still go outside and be outside, not snatch a quick look at the moon-in-the-trees or the church-lights with hands tightly thrust in pockets and a scarf wrapped twice round one's face, and then run straight back in because it is cold and the wind is cold and the cold is very unfriendly. I miss the hill, too, and a roof I can climb out onto -- of all of the things about the last house, that is what I keep going back to, the things I haven't got a replacement for here. I remember last winter I slipped out at night and climbed up the silent white hill and there was snow and stars and an immeasurable stillness and I think I am still a little bit haunted by that. Of course I can always bicycle up there sometime, with a book and some music, but it isn't the same as spontaneous slipping out, running outside to see the moon or a thunderstorm -- the way the hill was always a little bit out of the world, a strange fey place that didn't quite belong to the neighbourhood.

Inside the house all day (and the mall, which is much, much worse) gets a little too prosaic after a while.