"The first time ever I saw your face, I thought the sun rose in your eyes and the moon and stars were the gifts you gave......"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3iScH1XpjTA
First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by Stereophonics
I absolutely love the Stereophonics cover above.
"Death is a mystery. And life is but a breath." From Daughter of the Killing Fields Asrei's Story by Theary C. Seng.
It has been raining much of the day today. With the temperatures rising throughout the night and into tomorrow, only traces of snow will remain. The temperature is supposed to go from a high of 9 on Monday to a high of -7 on Tuesday, no wonder so many people get sick.
Today was much the same for me, a search for some perspective in my solitary life. Pages of novels read, cups of tea drank, eyes of strangers observed and in some cases momentarily lost in. Also the piece of writing below.
"I want to live, I want to give
I've been a miner for a heart of gold
It's these expressions I never give
That keep me searchin' for a heart of gold
And I'm gettin' old......"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57lMuywZUJQ
Heart of Gold by Neil Young (December 1, 2008 Montreal)
Accidental Conversations
December rain is falling on this city
The old harmonica in Heart of Gold
Slices through mine like a cold knife
All the white snow is washing away
Christmas might be brown or green
Nothing of its potential to be beautiful
A woman in a knitted sweater thinking
Oblivious to her ability to inspire me
The few rambling words written here
Under lights framed by black plastic
A Sunday afternoon beginning quietly
With its usual assortment of accessories
Books, music and growing cold black tea
The contents of my heart are not empty
Surprisingly it is full of things to give
Love might not be one of them anymore
How can I know for sure without feeling
Kindness has never been enough thus far
Life is but a breath and it is quickly taken
Long after we have inhaled and exhaled
There will be a secret story to be written
My words fail me and they have failed her
What do I know about myself except nothing
Everything is not as it used to be or will be
The days wait for accidental conversations
Nothing has a real purpose for me anymore
These words continue and the woman is gone
Not even leaving behind a thread of herself
My sweater also knitted but not out of love
Wears its grey colour well like my own eyes
Winter comforts me because of its requirements
Hibernation, toques, scarves, mittens and coats
Things I can wear well unlike my usual loneliness
Eventually all metal rusts and music is muted
The length of the afternoon remains unlived
History can write it as beautiful or repulsive
Everything needs definition in our vain society
Until this afternoon receives its own description
It will be in transition like rain falling on snow
12/14/08
The last work week before holidays begins soon, I suppose I should try and sleep.
john.