THE THIRTY-FIRST
Even from far away it was obvious that those two were just wandering about the streets, rather than being on their way somewhere. Happier outside, say people who can’t endure being at home because of the unbearable presence of some family member. At least outside, say those who don’t have a home to be in together, and so they walk about among the cold gardens of early spring as if they were interested in whether something was budding there or not. How cheery a vibrant crocus would be right now, on this gloomy afternoon! But the unbelievably yellow and violet colours of the crocuses are still hidden in their seemingly dead bulbs in the soil; or, rather, those colours don’t yet exist — there’s nothing there but the white blindness of anticipation beneath the dry clay upon w
