“And that must end us, that must be our cure:

To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose,

Though full of pain, this intellectual being,

Those thoughts that wander through eternity,

To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost

In the wide womb of uncreated night

Devoid of sense and motion?”

–John Milton

When no meaning wells to mind, comes to the well of the mind, and the earth feels bare. Surely that is not the cure and yet...

The second snow of the season falls tonight. An ice rain in the evening lays the groundwork for white flakes come morning.