A little pair of poems, one just a fragment, a delighted thought. January, another midwinter poem, maybe a midwinter of the soul, but it’s all right somehow, ‘There’ll be something stirring / under the snow’. Learning to be alone, and then not alone. There are two bits of film magic here: the slow penetration of the wood under deep snow; and then a magical transition to a still in black and white, far, far, back, to that little boy on the beach, to the distant, evocative piano of old friend and composer John Hywel. So understated, all of it, how it comes together. And the extreme closeup, of a man not young, but alive.

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