23rd December

[squirmelia]

Although so far I have not been anywhere further than train stations, where the air is known for its closedness, for its tangs of long dispersed soot, the air still feels less fresh than the station I originated from. There is a fine mist-like drizzle enveloping it all, but the real thing that makes it different is the wind. I can see my hair out of the corner of my eye delicately swaying, but there are no gusts, my strands of hair do not swoop out behind me, leaving a fresh cold chill on my cheeks. All I have here is a slight cold vapour that bubbles up over them, letting them feel a little colder.

At work the other day, someone strangely commented that I looked like Venus, standing in a clam shell, although I was walking past, and not just standing there at all, but my hair was somehow being blown away as I walked, like the hair in that picture.