Even in winter

– ice thaws, even in winter; what’s more, on days the sunshine finds its way and then disappears, inevitably, when the hour comes to concede night with a slow, thin disappearance of blue (the night comes earlier, faster than in summer, but the moment of evening is always slow) there are the usual unusual consolations of almost-night: silhouette (mountain, tree, branch, dry shell – the slow explosion, the drifting seeds) light (moon, electric lantern, fire – a struck match, a cigarette glow) and on this evening Capoeira dancers, chanting, drumming, keeping tempo with a ballet-biorhythm; making love without touching, mocking violence with the slow, slow spinning of lithe bodies. Ice thaws, even in winter. I know; I am the proof.

 

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