Fleece as white as snow.
2002-12-19 - 5:09 p.m.

The wind takes stinging bites out of my cheeks and the very tip of my nose, turning them a rosy red. I am making the four fifty five pilgrimage to the post box, along the deserted streets in the rich blue-black dark of this winter night. The grass shimmers a silvered sage while the charcoal of the footpath and road are frosted with that crystalline pattern that ice always has if you see it in just the right light. And what better light could there be than this? Indigo illumination. A contradiction in terms. Or maybe it's just that my eyes prefer things under exposed.

A solitary white envelope is clutched in my nerveless, black cotton covered fingers and I can barely feel my feet as they take their big, rubberised steps on the frosty concrete. I notice that my right foot must now be smaller than my left, since my heel keeps slipping in and out of my Vans sneaker. These shoes have walked with me over sand, grass and good times and they've never felt like they do today.. Or maybe my socks are just thinner than they used to be.

As I walk, I'm conscious of the now loose waist of my old green cargo pants hanging down over my stomach. If I listen closely, I can hear the fabric rustle as I walk. Combined with the quiet crunch of my footsteps it's an odd sort of duet, but it's better than silence. My grey black woolen coat somehow keeps me warm despite it's deceptively thin appearance, and I wonder about the physics of that for a second. But then, maybe the cold just feels differently to how I remember it.

I wear my warm pink and multicolored handknit beanie like a talisman against the freezing temperatures, the world, the other people who I can't see who are probably tucked away in their safe little houses, putting out dinner or watching television with their significant others and children. Maybe they're laughing at something they see on the screen. Or perhaps they're looking at the person sitting next to them and trying to photograph the moment in their minds eye. I keep walking, and in my head, I can hear A Sorta Fairytale.

before - after