It snowed today.  Finally, I thought.  At least it rids this landscape of the greyness of winter – it gives us some light, some hope, some inspiration even.  It is cold though, and through the window you can see nothing moving.  It is early, I woke from my sleep to a quiet morning of nothing – the snow muffles so much sound that it feel like I’ve gone deaf.  I woke early for no reason except that I was hungry and that my mind was wandering in my sleep – it was moving through places, talking to people and remembering things that had happened.  It was longing to be woke up, to be freed from its dream state.
These mornings are special.

Contemplative and unique, they have always gave me the opportunity to think clearly, before the muddle of the day sets in to re-arrange things.  Day and night become less distinct this time of year, especially on days like today where there is no sun.  The darkness is here, and it is winter.  I’m always reminded of January, that month that is looming always in the future, just a few weeks away, always with some kind of black cloud over it.  Nothing to look forward to, the year has just begun, but it seems that no one wants the new year to begin, and everyone instead wants to postpone the actual start by having a big party.  Understandable.  I do as well.

So, here we are.  Soon, food will start getting prepared, people will arrive.  In winter of our discontent, the protagonist is left feeling lost at one point in time about who he is — he thinks about himself only in reference to who he used to be, who his family was.  It is only later in the book that he can think about who they and he can become.  But is it always a joke to him?  Why does winter challenge us with introspection?