The sky cools and a milky expanse hangs expectant and soon snowflakes fall like soft white flakes of ash under a rising moon as winter extends a hand into the night air and freezes its heart. Birds tremor and still retreating into the deepest parts of trees and bushes and there they shall stay till the day calls them forth again. What do they dream and imagine through the long and lonely night? Tomorrow I shall place buttered brioche and vostizza currants on the wall and let them think that Christmas has come again. Just because I can and somebody should.