Strange weather it has been around here. One looks around and it is windy, warm sometimes, and there has been much of the rain. A scattered sort of weather for a scattered sort of life. Of all seasons I enjoy summer the least. I like wearing more clothes than not; I dislike the air conditioning only slightly less than a warm house. I cannot ever seem to make progress in life when it is warm. I remember once wondering how I could begin school again in the warm weather of September, how I would be able to study.
I have a few projects and many books lying around. They are unfinished and gape at me like unfinished yawns. I have been working on the Chronicles, more than some other things. I have had an idea about a story for Olivia: God hath put eternity in their hearts. I have seen somewhere an alternative: God has set the world in their hearts. The first gives you the idea that it is something we desire, the second gives you the idea that it is within, that infinity and an unending moment can be found in the quiet of the soul. So I am wondering what sort of story to make of it. One of desire which cannot be denied, a desire that persist through all of a lifelong attempt to ignore it? One of seeking the stars and finding them within?
What is it about the cold that orders life? Perhaps it does not order life, but allows it to seem that way. Still, when we want favorable conditions for thinking we want cool minds. You say we also want warm hearts. I agree. There is where the symbol of inside and outside makes most sense. Outside it should be cold, inside the stove. The brain as a device for cooling the blood so that the body can enjoy the warmth of the heart is not a bad idea. What one loves about the cold is not the cold alone, but the fireplaces and sweaters and hot drinks to keep one warm in a cool atmosphere, an atmosphere of thinking for our feeling. In short, one loves being warm in the cold, not being exclusively cold; one loves a certain oppugnancy, and it is fruitful.