Drifting On

The morning was laid over with a white haziness, not quite mist and not quite rain, but some twilight arrangement between the two. The tops of buildings softened into a void, and from the call centre, the sea shifted and moved in an odd manner, as if beholden to its own wishes rather than that of moons and tides and currents.

After work and walking through the North Laine with Em, and everything is washed out with that clear January clarity, and the white of the sky like 2013's still blank page. No history here yet, and the sheen has gone from everything. After the cloying sentimentality of Christmas, January's harsh realism is a relief and pleasure.