Perhaps Leonardo Di Vinci described clouds as bodies without
surface that never sit still for a portrait. And much as Mondrian painted tree
trunks that rise from the ground into which their roots have penetrated only to
disappear into panels of bright color and brushstroke – today I am moved by the
sight of faces caught in the windows of speeding trains going the other way.
Half-smile, glazed eyes, I stop what I am saying in mid-sentence.
Maybe part star and stargazer, dumbfounded to find the relative
racing past us in that distant glitter that spilled over holidays, we open our
mouths to the scintillating snow falling onto our faces as if to speak.
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