It has been snowing. I gaze out over the houses below, across to the Burrows.
I hear birds and the distant roar of the sea. No traffic. Down below, the snow is blending the houses into the landscape: softening their contours. Even the ‘new’ houses to the far right seem less intrusive – they are almost harmonious.
From my high open window I survey the scene, and see that things are not quite so distinct and separate as we like to imagine.
“Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.”
T.S.Eliot – Four Quartets, Burnt Norton 1.