All is quiet or so I perceive it. I stand outside in the snow and laugh. I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s really pretty cold and my coat provides only sufficient warmth to my torso. My hands. Oh, my hands! I wish I could still feel them. My ears are remarkably warm. I suppose that’s because my hair, added to it the still falling snow, makes for a neat piece of isolation. The streetlights cast a very comforting yellow on the snow. As cars pass, the snow around them turns a bright white, then red, then yellow again. I’m standing on a crossing of four streets, and as far as they go I see people inside their living rooms, watching mind-numbing television, missing out on this greatness, oh what I’d do to avoid such a life. I am still laughing. The strange kind of excitement that has taken over makes sure my face and legs are still warm. I can feel my feet, and they are getting far too cold. I walk off a few metres, and realise that I don’t want to freeze entirely. Stupidly, I stop walking completely and just stand. Another car passes. Even though the passengers are quite likely not freezing as much as I am, I feel that I have conquered them, for I have stepped outside in this lovely atmosphere and they did not have the courage to do so. Or is it my devotion to experiencing that what I really like? I think so. I really like to experience things like this. It inspires me and makes me realise of the things that are so much greater than I am yet try much less hard. As I walk back home, I notice a few stars through the otherwise clouded night sky. The snow is still yellow. My hands are still cold.