Rhiannon – Fleetwood Mac

nomadic venus

Cold crisp morning and the sky is as blue as my cashmere sweater. Drained from walking up the hill, but the sun revitalises me again, slowly, one pulse at a time.

I advocate croissants and Aztec hot chocolate.

“She is like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness” this tune plays in my head, ringing somewhat true for me. I have to do these things to keep myself sane and at peace during the winter, ah winter blues. I’m usually alright, just sometimes I feel the overwhelming isolation of the cold, as if the Northern winds manifested into a being came to me and checkmate: “Now what?” smiling wryly. But I say “no”, and dance with the cold instead, it’s only a couple of months a year I get to see him anyway. It’s quite charming still, and makes everything else just that much more special…

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