Reading in a Snowy Night

Snow is falling outside.  The past summer is like a wishful dream now, and there would never be such a summer in my life again.   Even the autumn, which was stunningly glorious, was definitely gone. 

I was reading in the living room.  I loved these quiet and solitary hours. 

“I walk home, thinking of another place, of seemingly long endless summers and the shade of different kinds of trees; and then of winters when the branches of the trees were bare, so bare that, recalling them now, it seems inconceivable to me that I looked at them and did not think of the summer just gone, and the spring soon to come, as illusions; as dreams, never fulfilled, never to be fulfilled.” (“A Division of the Spoils”, p.536) 

When I read these words once again, I wept.  I felt that Paul Scott was writing those lines for people like me.