Brr, it's cold. Earlier on, returning home, I had one of the worst bike rides I've ever experienced, weather-wise. I got literally drenched to the skin by heavy rainfall, and the temperature was close to freezing. By the time I got home, I could hardly hold my house keys, and once I got in the house, I started shivering like buggery. And now, outside, it is snowing! Great, fat, wet clumps of snow, but snow nonetheless. I don't recall it ever snowing in October before, not this far south anyway.
What is it about snow that fascinates so much? Is it its texture, its evanescence, its seeming purity? Is it the way it blanks out all sound and leaves the earth a quiet and brooding place? I remember being enthralled as a child whenever it snowed, and always wishing that it would continue on and on, and always feeling a sense of baffled disappointment as the flakes would suddenly weaken, then lessen, then stop altogether.
In fact, I can count the number of times I've been in significant snowfall on the fingers of one hand. Even when in Istanbul, I never experienced the joy of a Snow Holiday, when the entire city becomes locked in deep drifts heaved down from the Black Sea. And now, here I am, one eye on the screen, another on the picture outside, of great white flakes drifting lazily through orange street light, wondering when it will stop, half-hoping it won't.