I Soon we shall plunge into the shadowy cold. Goodbye to our short summer’s dying light! Listen, the firewood’s come: each dismal thud echoes off the paving stones of the court. All winter will sweep into me, a swell of fury, fear, horror and leaden work; like a second sun crossing its polar hell, my heart will be just a red frozen block. I flinch as every log hits stone. It’s the sound of a scaffold going up. All I am falters like a tower giving ground under the tireless blows of a battering ram. I’m lulled by these…