update from sparkleup

writing/seasons/index.md

@@ -8,6 +8,12 @@
 
 When I studied music, back in university, back as I was starting to get into software engineering, I found the dichotomy surrounding repeatability between these two subjects self-evident. There is a special curse for software bugs that are not easily repeated: Heisenbugs[^heisenbugs]. On the other hand, though, there *is* no way to ever perform the same song twice, even for the same singers, the same instrumentalists, the same conductors. Even with the same audience, that time any time must perforce pass in so time-bound an art means that those who hear the song 
 
+A year spirals up.
+
+A day, a week, a month, they all spiral, for any one Sunday is like the previous and the next shall be much the same, but the you who experiences the differing Sundays is different. It is a spiral, proceeding steadfastly onward. A day is a spiral, with each morning much the same as the one before and the one after. A month, following the cycle of the moon
+
+But a year, in particular, spirals up.
+
 ## Spring
 
 '''
@@ -178,6 +184,13 @@ The compost for being my winter blanket.
     year         = "2018",
     note         = "Accessed Feb 11, 2021"
 }
+
+@misc{esch,
+    title        = "Winter",
+    author       = "Esch, Edward",
+    howpublished = {\url{https://ericwhitacre.com/music-catalog/winter}},
+    note         = "Accessed Feb 10, 2021"
+}
 ```
 
 ## Notes

writing/seasons/notes.md

@@ -145,6 +145,8 @@ From "Mid-Winter Songs" by Morten Lauridsen, text by Robert Graves - https://gen
 '''
 *Lament for Pasiphaë*
 
+pg.206
+
 Dying sun, shine warm a little longer!
 My eye, dazzled with tears, shall dazzle yours
 Conjuring you to shine and not to move
@@ -165,6 +167,8 @@ Dying sun, shine warm a little longer!
 
 *Like Snow*
 
+pg.143
+
 She, then, like snow in a dark night
 Fell secretly. And the world waked
 With dazzling of the drowsy eye
@@ -177,6 +181,8 @@ In yet unmelted tracks
 
 *She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep*
 
+pg.173
+
 She tells her love while half asleep
 In the dark hours
 With half-words whispered low:
@@ -188,6 +194,8 @@ Despite the falling snow
 
 *Mid-Winter Waking*
 
+pg.165
+
 Stirring suddenly from long hibernation
 I knew myself once more a poet
 Guarded by timeless prinicipalities
@@ -208,6 +216,8 @@ But found no winter anywhere to see
 
 *Intercession in Late October*
 
+Poetry vol.71 no.1 - October 1947 - pg.23 - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=24836
+
 How hard the year dies: no frost yet
 On drifts of yellow sand Midas reclines
 Fearless of moaning reed or sullen wave