" Un p'tit coin d'parapluie

Contre un coin d'paradis..."

Not been snowing yet,

but woke up to a white, frost covered grass pitch.

Frost covered everything.

Getting cold now,

but so is the state of my worrying heart.

How could this be,

that I've been quite unfortunate in the strangest ways ever since I've relocated.

What is this path I'm unwinding, unravelling before me;

could these be signs that I'm not suited for where I am?

When I feel uncertain,

I like to take refuge in the fictional world,

and see the world for what it is through a protagonist unheard of.

This is the escapist's route,

but so what?

B.