The night is brighter when snow covers the city. How innocent the lamp posts are, how unattractive the cars these days, we look down and our toes don’t appear. It’s minus degree and we take good care of the steps, we just want to get home and not be left inferior to the cold. That beautiful tree we photographed in the spring has turned into a pole of old skin. The wind is harsh, as if the ocean flows by our side, as if we grow thinner like sails, the soul we tell to stay still. Darkness occupies after 4 pm, it races with the moving clouds, oh our hearts are pounding, makes us think of an ending. And of the sun so much. Of the sun too much. Of the sun. That much.