Resurfacing (Late Early March)
Resurfacing (Late Early March)
Hibernating creatures open their doors, then close them, lock up, head for a more commodious afternoon locale. The burrow of work can wait, the burrow of domestic drudgery—gravel on the kitchen table, mushrooms in the kitchen sink—these are fine things to be freed from, at least for the halfday.
Nietzsche, on his arrival in Turin, set about digging his own particular burrow, never mind the season. He worked continually on it, so he wrote to his correspondents, enlarging the burrow, lengthening the burrow, until he resurfaced, blinking, onto a large municipal square, filled with draft horses and livery horses, all manner of working animal. It was as good a time to quit as any.
Baskets of fried fish, baskets of fried prawns, line the long terrace table. The bright checkered paper lining absorbs excess oil, in accidental accordance with fasting procedure. And we, among friends, emerging, perhaps, from a long dark season, raise a glass in general salute—beer or wine, all manner of small beverage—its contents warmed gently by the sun.
