The night exhausts me with its beauty, pressing softly against my chest. It’s -3 degrees Celsius, and I am standing outside at midnight, letting the cold weave itself around me. I’m in a t-shirt, jeans, and socks. I should be covered, shielded from the chill, but I am not. And I’m smiling. The mist beckoned me outside, sparking a curiosity to feel it on my skin. There is something about not seeing what lies ahead that tests me, a strange pull to step into the unknown.
The stillness around me feels heavy, not oppressive, but full, as though the night is holding its breath. Colours that would normally shout their presence, such as greens, yellows, and even the pink of a distant rooftop, are subdued. They blend with the fog, becoming soft whispers of themselves. A single green streetlight glows faintly through the mist, its light scattering just enough to remind me I am not alone in this frozen scene. The rest of the world feels hidden, muffled by the cold, as though the night has drawn a curtain between me and everything beyond.
My breath forms clouds that curl and vanish into the darkness. The air stings, sharp and unrelenting, but I welcome it. The cold feels clean, its bite a kind of clarity, peeling away everything unnecessary. I can feel the fabric of my t-shirt against my skin, the roughness of my jeans. My socks are no match for the frost underfoot, but I do not mind. This is not the kind of cold that chases you inside. It is the kind that holds you still, asking you to stay just a little longer, to see what it has to offer.
The tree stands nearby, black and skeletal against the faint glow of the houses beyond. Its branches stretch out, angular and raw, as though searching for something just out of reach. It does not move, nor does it need to. Its stillness matches the quiet hum of the night, both unyielding and resolute. There is no comfort in its presence, but I do not need comfort. The tree exists as it is, steady and enduring, and for now, that is enough.
The mist thickens and thins in waves, shifting like the tide. It holds the light in strange patterns, softening it, distorting it. The houses on the horizon appear and disappear, their outlines blurred into abstraction. I think about how temporary this moment is, how the cold will give way to warmth, and the fog will lift, returning the world to clarity. This scene, this feeling, will slip away with it. But that does not make it any less real now.
I should go inside. The cold has seeped through my socks, the tips of my fingers tingling in protest. But I stay. I stand here, letting the frost prickle my skin, smiling at the absurdity of it all. The night exhausts me, drains me of everything I thought I needed, but leaves behind something quieter, simpler. It empties me and fills me all at once. As the world holds its breath, I do the same, breathing in the strange beauty of this frozen hour.
reflections of an unquiet mind 