In a crowd of snowflakes
footsteps collecting behind her
lamplight as lonely as the night
hope a brave desperation
Who painted this, a scene imbued with such recklessly overt atmosphere? I can hear the falling snow, and wonder if she is not cold, but somehow feel she is not, and yet again, my mind glances towards the forlorn figure in the distance, to check if he, or she has perhaps stepped forward. What anticipation! What a story is unfolding, with no past or future, yet a story so full it is almost bursting!