Last night, snowstorm in NYC.
Same month four years ago, a rare snowstorm in London. I was out taking photos all day. And then it was the day mom died.
Barthes' Mourning Diary has been on my reading list for years. Today, I picked up a copy at a bookstore because it's on sale, but more importantly, because I flipped to the entry closest to today's date and saw this:
Snow, a real snowstorm over Paris; strange.
I tell myself, and suffer for it: she will never again be here to see it, or for me to describe it for her.
– Roland Barthes
