As the snow fell steadily it felt at once as if it had never left and never fell before.
Summer has morphed with unexpected quickness into winter – perhaps because the days of sun were scant and autumn but a quick shiver to shed leaves – and I find myself awed by the swift passage of time.
And more than a little daunted.
The days are long and the todo lists even more so, yet still it speeds by. I wonder if the weeks will pass as fast in the north, where the darkness lasts longer, the wind bites sharper and the snow clings harder.
Amidst the cold there is beauty to be had nonetheless: the fool’s gold in the granite buildings and paths, the crashing of the sea and the steamed windows of coffee shops and bars where ceilidh music cannot fail to ward off the icicles.
This Eid, passed with a raging cold, lovely students, Shashi Kapoor and Amitabh Bachchan, and a re-watching of The Long Way Round ensconced with The Man will be the last of its kind in Durham.
As the snow brushes the window gently it brings change closer: not good, not bad, but different.
And that must be exciting.
(Or so I keep telling myself.)