the cold penetrates like old invaders from the northlands, striking fear and tension into the subdued flesh. i am so lazy in my languid way, zapped of all motivation for all things, can't read, can't write, can't speak. even thinking faculties are slowed down tortoise speed. i recall many years ago watching the shadows drift across a wall in glebe, all day spent perceiving the geometry of shadows as they articulate their way across existence never seen or observed unless one is in the slow time of depression or melancholia. of course those days i was filled with regret and sorrow. now i am just tired and cold and maybe old. like the shadows it will pass.