This has been a particularly chilly day, the kind that gives us all a little taste of winter; I caught myself in a surprising proximity to the feeling of winter days back home, when I used to come home from high school, to a silent house, to eat and wander around in the house or out onto the deck in socks and a coat, with the odd company of the winter sun, burning somewhere strangely. And, like at home, the day has sunk back into night too quickly, though at least I live on the upper floor, with its enclosed porch and green paint and cold dusty tiles. At least the sun stays here longer than downstairs, at least here I’m more on the level with the huge Jurassic trees that ended up here, luckily spared from the creeping, fraying streams of the City, whose tides of sound and smoke even the walls can’t keep out.
same sun, different world
