Saturday, 4 December 2010
The unaccustomed city silence during and after snowfall. The iron cold for which our houses and offices are often ill equiped, as they are for the heat of warming summers. The halting, shivering progress on streets slippery with ice. The ordinary drudge of every day rendered abruptly more difficult. If you feel already that the whole thing is almost beyond you, that you're holding on to the structures of a life with sliding fingertips, the unexpected burst of harsh weather provokes intense anxiety. The slide towards the edge speeds up, the camera tilts, image jagged and splitting, the thin veneer of normality suddenly too thin. For hours last night, snow dripped off the roof, front and back, keeping me awake. The steady dripping felt as if the house itself was melting - if I slept, I'd wake to find myself lying directly on the packed, grey snow. Groping in the chill air for words, each sentence a finger of a hand to grasp.