Winter has finally arrived. The occasional cloud passes overhead and drops proper white tufts of snow on our heads. In it’s wake it leaves blue skies and sunshine, until another snow cloud comes to visit. The snow doesn’t do anything great like stick around for very long, but it’s a wonderful sight when it falls.
Last Sunday evening at the Wellington, while I was kicking Tim’s arse at Scrabble, the snow came down with gusto and reflected brightly in the glow of the street lamp. Somehow that snow made me feel warmer and cozier for being able to watch it from the comfort of our local pub.
Then with dinner last night, we saw even heartier snow. Tim wanted to walk in it, so we did. It didn’t take him long to realize that with snow typically comes a frigid air. He must not have been dressed for it, because we ended up catching a bus the rest of the way home.
Another brief sprinkle just passed and I’m thinking about going out for a stroll. For some reason, London seems cleaner when it’s rained or snowed. The air smells less dirty. And I’ve always liked a still cold afternoon.
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