February 8th 2007

It is snowing so gently, just snow-mist really, and everything is covered in a thick layer of glittering dust so that when I walk under a street-lamp it looks like small pieces of the moon have broken off and fallen to earth and suddenly, tonight, under the tangled branches of the trees that line my street I am happy to be right here instead of one of the three thousand other places I am always wishing I could be.