December 16, 2009
I woke up before my time today. In the early morning I opened my eyes, as if I had escaped a dream, being unable to return to the sleep that had been chased away. I rose and wandered out into the lavender light reflecting off the white façades of the town houses, steering my steps towards the large open area just nearby.
The parkland stretches for as far as the eye can see, and had it been more densely vegetated it would have been a forest — in the very heart of this large city. The grassy expanse was covered with frost, and as it was gently caressed by the first yawns of a newborn sun, mists started to rise into the peach atmosphere that warmed the frosted mint below. In ages past they said the fairies danced, and indeed, swirling mists and joysome dances can during serene morning hours be one and the same.
The sun rose as a great ruby over the eastern treetops, those leafless towers and pinnacles that towered in the distance, their silhouettes softened by the evaporating frost. Swans were lining the edge of the great pond, their white dresses a hint of what was to come.
Once the sun had risen and lost its blush the skies clouded over. The air was still sharp and nipped noses and cheeks of those who wandered towards their destinations. In the afternoon the purpose of the day was revealed as large, cotton-like raindrops swirled from the skies. As they touched the ground, they melted to water.
They say it rarely snows in London, and so it was appropriate for this fair snowfall to melt as soon as it had settled; it did not snow; it rained cotton balls.