i'll walk from vegas, you sail from rome

it had been warm enough to contemplate the opening of windows. and then necessity called for a sorry gathering and wearing of coats, nothing too serious, mostly lightweight jackets (henry called for help to reach his "jacket-coat."). and in the wee hours of this monday morning when jude was gnashing his gums together and lamenting the advent of his teeth in his sleep, when he and i were walking the floors all shiny in the moonlight, a long honey-colored moonshine at the foot of the bed, the snow had already been falling in a whirl, not a slant or a steady fall, but in swirls, the way that it does in a wind as march comes (prematurely) roaring a king richard the lionheart. even now as i type i can hear this wind up, over the roof and down the long channel of driveway, whipping and whistling between the trees and bushes and grapevines.