In the cartoon’s final frames, Sarah wanders alone and barefoot through the snow. It is under these circumstances of genocide, starvation and exposure to the elements that she befriends (or perhaps hallucinates) a squirrel. She escapes the slaughter by hiding in a nearby forest. Sarah’s village is invaded by Nazis, and her family members are captured and taken to a concentration camp. I sat alone in the living room, watching a cartoon movie called “Sarah and the Squirrel.” It was not the lighthearted fare suggested by its title. A snow-laced mountain fog had settled over the Potomac Highlands of West Virginia. I first heard “Winter” in 1985, when I was 4. Now is the time for “Winter,” a composition that, like the season, holds us in a tighter grip. But, as my fellow millennials know far too well, an ill-timed frost nips yesteryear’s aspirations in the bud. “Spring” is the sassy classical of the baby boomers, music to accompany an anniversary toast at an expensive French restaurant. Antonio Vivaldi’s “Spring” has more than twice as many film credits as any of its counterparts in his Baroque masterpiece, “The Four Seasons.” “Spring” is weddings and day spas, your toddler’s I.Q.-inflating sleep aid.
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