hanging on one person's breath

this morning when i woke up, out house was six degrees and my shower was painfully hot simply to counteract the chill that had seeped into my bones. outside, however, was a different kind of cold. it was so sculpted, so precise and yet utterly un-pristine that it hurt to look at the shapes the bare branches pressed into the sky. small drifts of snow fell lazily from the tops of old houses in the glebe, sparkling in the persistant sunlight like [i imagine] a million diamonds.

i've been having such vivid dreams lately.

so coherent at the time, they lose every nuance of comprehensibility when i try to express them with words.

it's really rather bothersome.