“A clear, frosty night. Unusual brilliance and perfection of everything visible. Earth, sky, moon, and stars, all seem cemented, riveted together by the frost. Shadows of trees lie across the paths, so sharp that they seem carved in relief. You keep thinking you see dark figures endlessly cross the road at various places. Big stars hang in the woods between branches like blue lanterns. Small ones are strewn all over the sky like daisies in a summer field.
“We go on discussing Pushkin. The other night we talked about the early poems he wrote as a schoolboy...”
Was it coincidence that I felt like finishing the rest of 'Dr. Zivago' tonight and stumbled on this?
Well, not Pushkin, I was thinking of Elliot while walking my way back amidst the vast snow-white field. The yellow street lights, half covered foot steps on snow, deserted roads ... all felt like a déjà vu from childhood. Weird!
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