I am waiting for the plumber: water is everywhere, soaking the towels left behind Hby people before us — white towels with green reindeer and green snowflakes. Water puddles the white tiles, drips down the white walls, sprays the white porcelain of sink and bath. We’ve moved again, again, another step away from our hot green island home. Here, the mountains are thickly frosted with sugar-white ice, the air is dry, the sky is white the ground is white the roads are white the trees are pale grey skeletons under a load of white ash and when I stare out the white window with white blinds at the snowstorm outside, waiting, I see the white horse in the paddock across the street rolling in the snow, just like a dog delighting in grass or a crocodile savoring mud. He twists and squirms and looks for all the world like he is dancing, on his back, in the snow. [Build intensity] I have never seen a horse on its back before. His four legs twirl in the air, he is luxuriating in the prickly sting of freeze. The brown horse and the black horse watch, patiently, until the white horse rolls over one last lovely time and rises, shaking himself and shivering clean, the rocketing fury of flakes a corolla around the sun. I have never seen a horse on its back before. His four legs twirl in the air, he is luxuriating in the prickly sting of freeze -- -- the rocketing fury of flakes a corolla around the sun.
