Simbellmyne's utopia

Cold is especially unpleasant when it’s damp. Usually it happens at night - the freezing fog goes right through any clothes and sometimes it seems even straight through the skin and muscles and bones, straight to the very core of you. It ices your breath and chills your head so it starts to spin and your legs get unsteady on the newborn ice. It’s frightening and it drives us home, to our artificial fires and away from the fog and the cold and the ice.

And yet the morning dawns and the cold loses it’s anger, it’s ferocity and deflates, sets down on everything it can find. And it covers everything with a sweetness of a sparkling sugar,

And plates the windows with light, trembling and fragile art,

And the winter suddenly seems not so bad after all.