The piano is being played, and you standing there, slightly bowed, slightly rain-dampened, humbling yourself before the music. May you always remain capable of such a posture.
Franz Kafka, 1923.
it was a February day
it was a dove of snow on
the darkling grasses
it was a silken hour in a pavilion
of clouds
it was a poem of ashes on
the wind
it was a February day