Minus five and a half degrees and getting colder
mourning gripped the air in the dead of night
I came to a village high up and out the way
the communal Christmas lights glistened for miles upon the surrounding frozen moorland
I stopped at a red light outside a church and stared
the music in the car slow and blurred
a culmination of death and memories written on a postcard left a feeling somewhere between melancholy and buoyancy
it gave me hope
whether it was misplaced or not, didn’t seem to matter
the lights turned green: I drove on through.
Rambling Rambles 