I can smell snow. I can taste it in the night air as I step off the train in this little station in the middle of nowhere.
I am going north for a week. There will be no laptop, no phone, no mail, nothing. Just me and my little family shivering in the quiet shoulder of a Scottish hill as the snow begins to whisper as it gathers weight on the pine branches. Creak through the night and fall soft as God’s step on the hidden path…
It will be, if nothing else, a chance for me to purge my soiled mind of this limp lyrical mouthwash and chisel out some formal ideas.
