Winter 1979 (age 15)

A new snow is fallen, and all is blanketed by a gentle covering. The freshly - risen moon is bright in the eastern sky, dodging the clouds in it's last quarter. The air is still and artificial noises are few. It is a beautiful sight having rendered every object, black or white, good or bad, with a delicate layer of pureness.

The early morning air makes the scene even more beautiful. The stillness seems to engulf you, and bestow upon you a new awareness, or perhaps a new insight, as if the stillness had a consciousness of its own, as if it were informing you of its Worldly secrets.

As the hands on the clock progress closer and closer to the appointed hour of waking the scene changes. The stillness and tranquility are chased off by the rising of man due to the accompaniment of his accomplices: pother and ado.

Displaced by the sullenness the serenity now goes into hiding and will wait until man has departed, and sleeps again, or until it can resume its peacefulness and serenity without his interference.

The stillness of night and the absence of man's pother together with the new fallen snow make all so pure and different from the tempestuous daylight world, that you are inclined to believe it is all a creation of the imagination or some intense reverie, a state rarely visited by the occupants of today's world.