You glance out of the window and gaze upon the swathe of smoky grey-blue snow laying almost evenly flat on the ground and stretching out as far as the eye can see. It's as cool-grey and steel-blue as the night sky is a cloudy white. There's something bewitching about the scene - a charm that wants to draw you out and onto the path you see your life chalking itself out on the clean snow-laden slate. Snow and Sky together radiate a soft, gentle whiteness. The colours cool your mind. The now-lit, now-in-shadow patches of the ever so slightly undulating snow sheaf glitter like a blanket woven of tiny gemstones even as it inspires crystal-like clarity in your thoughts.
The night is young. It has come into its own now as Twilight ended. It seems to rejoice in its newness and its alluring naïveté - unapologetically.
And it will change, it knows, to a darker, older Night as time goes by. But this time - this Now, belongs to it. And so does mine.
This is my time. The time of my life. And I will have it.
The night is young. It has come into its own now as Twilight ended. It seems to rejoice in its newness and its alluring naïveté - unapologetically.
And it will change, it knows, to a darker, older Night as time goes by. But this time - this Now, belongs to it. And so does mine.
This is my time. The time of my life. And I will have it.
