blocks of ice

New Year has the colors of a Scandinavian detective movie: massive block built back in the 50s under the pale gray sky, empty windows, silence. I can’t hear the gulls scream through the closed windows. Yesterday when I woke up at 6 am, the fog was so thick that all I could see was the bright head of the street lamp. And then later at night, while I was drinking cider I could hear a dog whimpering with fear of fireworks. Now the soft white bodies that have flown from the river are circling peacefully between the blocks. The war is over now. The most solitary night of year is over.