George Washington Crosby, in the last hours of twilight, his father recalls. Howard is an elusive figure, wrapped in self-sufficiency of "personal mysteries." It 's a salesman and most of his customers live in the woods and as soon as spring comes to expect it in the clearings. One, in particular, it expects to restore its supply of tobacco consumed during hibernation. The meeting between the two men, the hermit of the forest and the traveler with her hand bag, is a rare moment of quiet on the river bank to a troubled life that surrounds the whole family, because Howard is suffering from epilepsy . The disease, with its sudden bursts, the visionary power and tends to render them hazardous (George recalls that when he's bitten your hand) until the wife feels that his wife feels only "a silence filled with anger and bitterness . And 'the silence of those who take time "does not show the intention to put him in a nursing home. Just a gesture, a piece of paper, a motion and "Is not it true? Just a movement of the head, a step left or right, and we become by the wise, fair, loyal, crazy in cocky. The light changes, blinking, we see the world from a different perspective just and our place in it has already changed and will continue to change, forever. " Howard also knows, like everyone, that "humans must still live somewhere and in something" and it is still in his chariot and escape. George repairs clocks, as if to recover the portion of time that was taken away with his father, just as those "forgotten songs that we never knew, we thought only to remember, when in fact, all of a sudden, we realize that we do not know at all, and while we understand how they can be wonderful. " Last winter to Howard and George tend to coincide because, even if they are separated by time and distance, both feel a sadness "so deep that it must be love", that only the final Surprisingly, opens and closes in the twinkling of an eye. Paul Harding, former drummer of the unfortunate Cold Water Flat, built Last winter with a large bold style (say, virtually no dialogue) succeeding in a stand of unstable, precarious balance of time, punctuated by the seasons, the joints, by the flashes of seizures, mechanisms of clocks until the waves of increasingly long passages from generation to generation. The ticking of his writing is methodical, able to illuminate "a final design that is dispersed to the four winds without even stop at the end of what, at the end of it all," to regain the transcendence of the American wilderness and with all those weird moods that are the very constitution of the "invisible republic" which is imbued from beginning to end, as an original ballad, Dylan.
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