HOKUSAI REMINDS ME again when the world runs weary to a stop. Hokusai reminds me the same snow falls around the world, that we sometimes see it less than white, when night is falling and shadows fall as softly as whispers. Hokusai reminds that the world of coming shadows, of coming hues of gray and blue soon will grow black, that in some of this is a beauty chilled and crisp. Hokusai the wild youth who became the old man mad with painting reminds me always of the snow cold that melts on your face and mine. And when the snow cold melts to run down our faces we are alive.