Inferno: "lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate"

Dante, in what seems to be a considerable break with tradition both Catholic and polytheistic, conceives the deepest regions of the underworld realm not as a lake of fire-and-brimstone, a black, shattered, noxious and bubbling volcanic parody of grassland and clear rivers, not, in a word, as a hellhole, but as a desolate and chilled wasteland, frozen and cooled in perpetuity by wind from the flapping of the great demon's wings as he chews in his mouths the carcasses of Brutus, Cassius, and Judas.

I'm sure this was a shocking plot twist at the time. I lived in a temperate zone and from time to time went skiing. Therefore Siberians, Vikings and Mongols may laugh, but like Robert Frost before me I will say only that from what I've seen ice is a credible way for the world to end.

Temperature dropped precipitously today -- still single-digits-below in celsius during the day, but I'm quite ready to move on. Next two days I'm hiding at home, drinking my tea, and listening to Mahler.

Postscript, Thursday night. I've kept to my agenda and Old Man Winter to his. Example of headline I'd rather not see with a stopover in Toronto: "Storm brings transportation chaos to southern Ontario". The article continues with a cheery sub-headline including the phrase "...a massive snowstorm struck with a vengeance, cancelling and delaying air travel and gnarling road traffic" which situation is expected to "continue through Friday morning." Suddenly I don't mind anymore that my plane is a day or two later than it could have been scheduled. But hey, there's a sun peaking out for Saturday.

Postscript, Friday morning. -- Look, Sulu: the sun's come out. It's a miracle. Nay, Mr. Chekhov, some unholy pact has reordered the seasons. Today I woke and checked the local paper (online) and thought the reported temperature, over 40 (!), was victimised by a typo, and not because it's in degrees Fahrenheit. But when I poked my head outside I found it had indeed warmed thirty-odd degrees (Fahrenheit) over -- yesterday; for the mounds of snow accumulated (including from a brief snowfall two days ago) looked sad and desiccated, muddy ground was everywhere visible, and no one hunched against the wind. It was eerily calm. I just hope apocalypse can hold off a few days.

Speaking of which (ho, ho!), debate's on tonight! cbc.ca promises to stream [not in RealAudio or equivalent as erroneously reported earlier] this stultifying tradition live, with analysis, too, in case I don't understand it or something. I know no one watched last night's, but do you notice anything curious about, say, the front-page picture on theglobeandmail.com? I observe that three of them (Mr. Duceppe's is hard to see) are wearing very similar striped ties. No wonder Mr. Martin is smiling, having barely avoided faux pas and instead looking like the leader he is on the tie front.