Paths over the snow

The compulsory knitting lessons have a purpose, after all. I see now why the mind goes over and over the same things without permission and even when you threaten to kill it (either with alcohol or more permanently). It needs to fix the new pathways, re-knit the neurons to a new configuration, overlay the delight of the past with the pain of the now so that the now is not a shock every morning. It wants us to become accustomed to the now, and have to peer through the trees to see the old way. The mind is its own Stalin.

When the snow goes, the grass will be dead under the paths I have trodden through the garden. It will all be mud. This winter has made a Verdun of my life.


One Response to “Paths over the snow”

  1. That is so true!

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