{-13hours for accurate posting time, Canada}

Things get cold fast in winter.

It snowed again today, and the trees are all laden down with snow like sugar-icing. Fresh snow gleams. And when you walk through them, they don't get dirty, because the whole place is carpeted with fresh snow.

It is pretty when it snows. But the biting wind rushes at you.

All things must be compensated, I suppose.

I'm in a pensive mood.

Watching him sleep is surreal. It's where I've been, so I smell the air in his room, hear the slow whirling fan, and feel the warmth of those sheets. I feel his slow, laboured breath. The steady rise and fall of his body. When I whisper in the mic, I almost think I'm whispering there in his ear.

My window casts a blue tint on everything outside.