mercredi 13 janvier 2016

Cinematic Writing XII

my own | cam llwch, Brecon

Midwinter spring is its own season

Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, 
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. 
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire -

Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom 
Of snow, a bloom more sudden 
Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading, 
Not in the scheme of generation.
Where is the summer, the unimaginable Zero summer?

- T. S. Eliot, Little Gidding