If you are in New York, and like cities, this exhibit is worth seeing I think - I am going this weekend.

He later remembered vignettes from a novel that he had read many years ago, thinking about the question she had asked him: why did he hold her hand and didn't let it go?

In that novel, these roles were reversed; it was Tereza who always held Tomas's hand. The narrator explained the hand holding habit of Tereza this way:

"When the scream died down, she fell asleep at his side, clutching his hand. She held his hand all night.

Even at the age of eight she would fall asleep by pressing one hand into the other and making believe she was holding the hand of the man whom she loved, the man of her life"

Now that nearly all leaves have finished descending from the heights to quilt the streets, and since winter in my head is tied to walking, somewhat aimlessly, in the distances that open up to this slightly marbled and dirty light, and since this borrowed image (from the cover art of an album by Madredeus, a great Portuguese fado/folk band) seems to convey some of that aimlessness (with a dash of nostos), it becomes the new header.