![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfYGe4jIJP3HsKUCwEcfiCrG4k0SDa3l1jJZ4xiVE1zZ_o-mzCsi-vFT1KoxnZf9GnUh1qGOi94gZpUKUNaIY9inepoSLC5_BcqMdyBFIBOmp6d1nLldXyhoXvfmx7DwJQPHBxA/s400/Analect2.405x.jpg)
16 December 2008. Rain on the streets, luminous, slanting. Indoors: the green pool, veiled in fog...
A mysterious Hungarian bath, even from Roman times--Sylvia Plachy's world, reeds and sows, all white, carved wood, stark turns against the snow. A figure, bundled in furs, totem of the dark, leaping now, with curved horn--winter's dance...
Golden flames...
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