Here's hoping

A few minutes after midnight the crack of fireworks, church bells tolling and a strange drumbeat from somewhere drew me out. I wasn't expecting mist in the almost empty streets. I wasn't expecting the waft of cinnamon from a small group of people chatting in the road, hands cradled round steaming mugs.

It was good to be out but cold, so cold. It was good to retreat home again and discover that the sorrows I'd left doggedly floating in alcohol had died in my absence.


Black and white in colour 225