I woke up angry this morning. I’m sure it was a bad mood repeated all over Surrey. And other similarly cold and frosty places.
Toasty and warm in bed, the alarm goes off and I can’t hit the snooze button. Moving my phone out of arm’s reach last night was a preemptive strike against myself. There is only so long you can listen to “marimba” without wanting to end all sound. I suppose that is the point.
Drag off the duvet, feeling the frozen air rush in and around and I’m immediately chilled. Bone achingly cold. It is unpleasant. I mutter to myself, shuffle about and wrap myself up in clothes. All of the clothes I own.
Boots on. Scarf triple-wrapped. Fingerless gloves donned. Camera slung over shoulder. And finally, outside. Continuing to mutter. Nearly go over on the icy pavement – episode number 1 of what I am sure will be many more this winter. Thankfully no one else was around to witness my ungraceful attempt to keep upright.
So edging along, worried about falling over, breaking a hip, smashing a lens, my mood does not soften much. Even though the frost in Guildford is beautiful, the air is crisp, the paths are empty, still nothing resembling a smile arrives on my face.
Until this little act of snow graffiti and my heart warms up a bit.
And then I find the even softer Italian expression of love and my heart melts.