A dream crossed of the list. On Saturday night. It was late. Much too late to be awake, really. I was wearing my favourite leopard leggings and a thick wool dress. And snow in my hair.
The thirty minute journey took slightly over two hours; a slid, a splash, and a couple of snowballs, tentatively thrown at me by J. who clearly spent his evening partying and not working.
But nothing can ruin the smell of snow. That scent made of burning firewood and damp earth. Quite indefinable, and yet I’ve just tried.
Some things are will never be different. Now onto the next dream. Cross your fingers for me.