Today is my very favourite kind of weather.
I looked out of the upstairs window this morning, into the communal garden that forms a perfect, hedge enclosed square at the back of our house, and I could see that the whole lawn was covered with frost. When I made it outside, my breath came out in clouds, and I tipped my head back, pretending to be a steam train.
The grass on the verges was glistening, crunchy underfoot.
On the walk to work I took big strides and deep breaths, smiling and swinging my arms.
In my office, the blue sky is framed by the window and it’s hard to concentrate. I’m meant to be looking at my screen but instead I’m drawn to the semi-circle of blue and the streaks of winter sun that light up the building and the grass opposite.
I walk to the shop for a pint of milk – an excuse to gulp in more of the sweet, winter morning. As I close the door behind me and walk down the steps, onto the pavement, I feel the cold, but in a way that draws me up, makes me taller and fills the world with possibilities.