In the thin-sifted snow are tracks of living things now dying of winter. Far from the light the rank burrows pulse with the rapid heartbeats of small creatures struggling to stave off ……………………..the certainties of cold.
It has come down to this: this room with bed and chair, a dirty window, someone who will look in on him, owing affection from the past, small talk while waiting out the time, ……………………..blanket against the cold.
Here nuances of days mean little. No relatives will gather round. A futile life – will you do better? – shames the reluctant visitor who, debt discharged, now scurries to ……………………..the refuge of the cold.