Is everyone else completely, totally and utterly fed up with about five minutes of chilly daylight per day, during which, as during the other 23 hours and 55 minutes, the cold eats unceasingly into one's bones, or is it just me?
And yet, and yet ... When I came out of the supermarket yesterday at 5.55 pm, it was not yet quite dark, as it certainly would have been at the same time two weeks ago. It was so cold that moisture had already condensed and begun to run off the roof of the car, but also so clear that over on the northwestern horizon, above the sea, there was still a subdued navy-through-azure-to-gold-pink sort of glowy effect, against which the ancient architectural lines of the Greek Orthodox church and the sharp shapes of palm trees sat like black satin cut-outs.
It was gorgeous. It was so gorgeous I forgot, for half a second, to be cold.