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It snowed all last night and this morning. Another four or five inches of snow. I went out onto the lane out back, with Pilau, around midnight. It was strange and beautiful with the orange glow of the streetlights and the mist starting to form and everywhere soft with snow.
By the time I took Pilau for his midday walk today, the snow was thick and a dense fog had descended on the village. Everything was white and grey. Skeletal trees, which yesteday had seemed so shockingly stark against the white, were wraithlike and indistinct; branches bleeding into the fog, like they were a part of it. Villagers, muffled and faceless, appeared and disappeared like spirits. Even the houses seemed insubstantial; fading within moments of passing. A ghost village. We are here and then we sink back into the fog.
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