inside and outside

Inside, it’s nice and toasty.
People sipping coffee, reading books, chatting on a pseudo-open air terrace.
Small potted trees carve out a little niche against a brick façade.

You can almost see the people lounging on its broad window ledges, top button undone, cold drink in hand.
You can almost smell the sea in the air, its saltiness and its fishiness.
You can almost hear the people on the streets, that unintelligible background noise that will not fade as one herd replaces the next.
You can almost feel the sun as it washes over gently, a warmth that permeates into the flesh.
You look up and squint, it’s too bright, and you shield your eyes with your hand.

Then you see the yellow spotlights that shine down.
You feel that chilly draft.
The scarves, the gloves, the hats on the tables and the coats over the chairs.
That chilly draft again.

Outside, the snow is falling.
Too fast to be called dainty but with a certain elegance in its rhythm.
It falls wordlessly.
Snowflakes sprinkle fields, roofs and naked trees, like a dose of icing sugar fit for a glutton’s cake.
Cars wheel slowly in the slush, people trudge about their business.
The world plays on in slow-motion, in white and grey.

You look up and feel the drizzle of ice.
You catch the flakes on your tongue.
You close your eyes but you still see.
It falls on you, straight towards you.
It falls wordlessly.
No words can describe it.