winter city lights at dusk


During my university years, I would stay at my Grandparent's house in the winter time, to ensure I could get to class on a snowy day. Living in the countryside meant winter was a time of silence and blinding whiteness, and the roads were deathly icy. So, instead, I lived in a cream coloured room above the hustle of the city, with old wallpapers and a heavy blue duvet blanket on the bed.

Those times were quite lovely, and I remember peering out the window at night - the heat of the room escaping from the crack in the curtains, my cold cheeks and nose pressed against the glass. In that frame of hot breath on cold glass, I could see all the lights of the city.

Our city lights have always given me comfort. To me, they mean:

- The return of a long car journey up North, after sleeping in the back of our family car. 
- The view from the lookout, as we watched dusk creep over the houses.
- And, of course, they meant warm evenings spent at my grandparent's house, eating Grandma's bean soup and watching David Attenborough documentaries.