The trees sat squat in the hills. Bush branches grew towards their trunks, clutching the sky, as the Sun sank lazily within it. Mist began to rise from the freshly ploughed earth, gracing the rolling hills as it drifted. The earth was detoxing after the long hard season. The clouds were like a watercolour painting; a cheerful family ambled across the dampened fields in brightly coloured winter thermals, receive this Yuletide season. Everything around me was moving, and so was I.
A fire was lit by the side of a nearby house, the flames dancing, beckoning in a new year. In an instant, the world was enveloped in darkness. The tunnel dragged us in, and as it did, a world of memories was opened like a tin of beans; sound bounded around its container.
Light burst through the darkness of the carriage and we picked up the flow of the river, ever faster as we marched towards our destination. And then everything stopped. Suddenly the journey was interrupted. The station slowly pulled us in. We reached a halt. I received a text. I had left my sandwiches on the kitchen worktop.
Then nothing for ages, until the key hit the lock, twisting in it, the world rotating like drum in my washing machine. And now fresh snow sits on the lawn. It is poised for the suns of spring. What will this melting bring?
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