snow, asphalt

Sitting at my home office on the third floor of an apartment building, the window to my left faces the street that takes incoming people southward into the city . There is a hotel with penthouse cafe that radiates fancy dimmed warm light to a small area outside, next to is a small playground dotted with tall and empty trees, reaching their bare branches into the sky like pilgrims in Mecca. It snowed, from three o’clock in the afternoon, all the way till now, it is five thirty. Today is 7th of March, a Tuesday.  I am currently listening to Nocturne in A major Poco adagio. It suddenly strikes me that as I type furiously into my computer the passage of my consciousness falls like the snowflakes all the way onto the asphalt.

Today I looked through ways to be involved in the local volunteering community just to find out that in a country like this not many mutual aid groups even exist. I question myself all the time whether my choice of life is justified. And then I look outside at the snow. Everything is justified.

Everything in life falls like snowflakes onto the asphalt, history falls like snowflakes onto the asphalt, the earth eventually collapses into the sun like a piece of snowflake falling onto asphalt.

Time annihilates everything, gravity takes its shift without break. There is a profound sense of indifference to be found.