'...there was a public house on the way evidently, the local congregation used its basement. We stayed there. Twice, the bartender fed us the preceding night's scraps In the morning of the third day, an odd silence hovered above: rising…

What if the snow and its wonder involved an environmental 'imutation' or - at least - a beautiful metaphor for the great, gentle, quiet, thorough meeting... ...of the greatest, silent need.

Trying to fit an old whine into a new battle.

Hmm?

'...to our dear boy...'