The stone wall under snow sticks its faces out and they look like old men keeping an eye on things. Walking this morning in the cold I wanted very much to be sentimental, to ask the slender shadow of my boyhood to come along–the kid who was always groping, putting his blind feet forward. Wisdom is only fed by a few facts, but many surprises. All night I read about the Nazi philosophers and their eager embrace of euthanasia for disabled children. I was fed by that fact. Then I went out into the restless shadows of the winter woods, and my larger name was swallowed by the cold The boy in me was very much alive, said: “the swaying birches are Samurai.”
Planet of the Blind 