Cold Day, Deep in Coma

Sat in the living room.
The curtains are open - a rarity for the morning - I presume Andy has been up already and opened them before he left for work.
The light outside is grey and heavy. The sky seems full of snow, full of thick and serious clouds. The coldness of the air is everywhere, a penetrating and spectral state.
I watch one of the lamps strung across the Mews, drifting in the breeze. Even the movement looks cold.
Across the roofs of the houses opposite I see the church spire, a silhouetted structure reaching up to a needle sharp peak.
A seagull passes by, a shadow only.
Everything feels deep in coma.