And so, with the first frost crinkling the grass and the heating turned up, the season of wishes became the season of dreams. At times, the world makes it perfectly clear that it is a whole six months from lilac season, and the frost crackles like the land itself is being crushed in an icy grip. Other times, the smell of fires and cooking and inside-in-Winter doesn’t make it all seem that bad after all.

Now, we’ll see which kind of Winter this will be – a season of happy dreams or of shattered dreams?

I’ll go for the former.