Going for a walk at 5am on a frigid, icy, Sunday morning in December.
Yes, it’s slippery and slidy and a bit sharp and crunchy in places.
Yes, I may have done the sort of ‘staying-in-one-place-but-running-at-full-speed’ kind of dance you see on Scooby Doo cartoons to prevent falling on my ass on several occasions.
Yes, it’s minus 5 and I’ve lost all feeling in my substantial nose and my insubstantial toes.
But you know what? I love it because the world is mine. All of it.
I can go where I like in whatever bizarre, haphazard direction I choose.
And the ground is sewn with diamonds which are glittering in the weak moonlight, the night is slowly slipping away like a shroud. The eastern sky is turning purple as the first tendrils of tomorrow take to the heavens.
The birds start to sing their songs and I smile for miles.
Then some asshole in a tranny van flies past at 60mph and causes my reverie to be washed away in a tidal wave of slush.