in the morning, there was just a teeny bit of snow. more of a hail, really, but white and wintry.
then the rain started.
then all went golden with the last rays of the sun that does not rise too high.
then there were those white sunlit clouds in baby-blue sky.
then there was night, full of blasts of winds and randomly flying branches, and noise.
even the neverending trams had ceased from their metallic rattling.
what does this say about advent and inspiration?
no idea. whatsoever.