" I got blisters on my thumbs, putting bullets in my guns, I am reaching for the sky and say 1,2,3 Go!

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.

'...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…

...yes.