January in London

It is a rather grey white wet miserable day in London. There is light rain and dark skies. With one week of January left I heard birds singing as I woke this morning, invisible birds singing in the darkness.

The big city lives and moves in fits and starts. Its people turn out of their homes into their work, some to earn a living, some to earn a living for many. The city groans with footsteps and the sounds of wet tyres whispering along the roads. The people are visible but do not sing. They do not sing in the half light. There is little sign of bright light.

The day is too dark to write much. I shall work now.

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