The Christmas Preamble

We haven't had the joy of a proper, buried in snow winter, but Brussel's details make it well worth it eitherways. Here is a way to picture what its like for me walking from my apartment to any destination.

I close the aged wooden door to the building moments before dawn. Electronic Clack. Its cold out, but not deadly. The little roundabout bordering the corner of the apartment and the shut Iranian grocers are reminiscent, of a night-time Amelie moment. Walking to the park its all tall trees with icy tips and writing inspirations on frost covered cars. Shit! someone just saw me vandalising! Run round the corner. Cross the street to the park. Trees shake delicately to give me the impression its feebly snowing around me. The angst ridden gray sky is being pushed away by a blue blue sky. Hop on the metro. Hop off. Slip sliding to my destination. Its the Saturday before Christmas at dawn. Shh quiet shh. A car skates past without a word. I have the whole Brussels to myself. The air suddenly feels fresher 'cause no ones breathing it at the same time. The bridge over metro train with walls too high to see the city. Jump, jump, and dawn graces me with its bright pastels. More slip sliding and dreaming away about Christmas.