Yesterday was the first time I casually sat on a train and rode through a landscape covered in snow. A white horse only visible because of dark eyes. Sheep grazing, rather 'digging' through to graze. Men and women, holding hands in trails parallel to tracks. Children sledding on small mounds of snow. I'm in the British Library, sitting at a desk in a beautiful room, still awed by the fact that I can order a book from 1200, put it at my desk, flip through its pages. I can't get rid of the feeling that I'm still on that train, that all I need to do is turn my head and look out of a window, past my reflection, and catch sight of a river, hardened just enough to hold a thin layer of snow. Ducks standing in places where they once swam, turned upside down and fished. A fallen tree's branches caught frozen in a creek.