What Language Did The evening was the same as any other. I came out and stood on the step. The suburb was closed in the weather of an early spring and the shallow tip of washed-out yellows of narcissi resisted dusk. And crocuses and snowdrops. I stood there and felt the melancholy of growing older in such a season, when all I could be certain of was simply in this time of fragrance and refrain, whatever else might flower before the fruit, and be renewed, I would not. Not again. A car splashed by in the twilight.Read More