Walking in the dark. One foot in front of the other. Breath a phantom trail of life. One foot marking the path of the other. Thoughts keeping time, curling out into the day. Hands racked deep in my pockets. Cracked pavements and moss. Bitter cold boughs and shivering streets. Windowed parcels of light and welcome behind tatty hedges and dark doors. Streetlights leave pools of dirty yellow light and the sky is blanket of grey. Frost sparkles on the roofs of cars, the tips of faded grass. Narrow houses and the black silhouette of tress, outlined in charcoal. I can hear the birds, but can’t see them. The croak of crows half imagined in this new-old city. And the wisp of fox tails and cats. The cold bites; my ears and the tip of my nose. Sharp with morning. Hunched into a coat and walking. One foot in front of the other. In the dark.