When it snows the sky is a sleek gray, a dull, lifeless colour, and everything is quiet. North of Lyon the snow is thick, and there is a field huge enough for children with sleds. But if you walk a bit further you can find empty fields you can call your own, virginal ones would be the right term, violating them with your footsteps.
You can find the quiet you’re looking for, anywhere in the world, if you move away from the crowd and walk a bit further than most people would.
2004 will treat everyone nicely.
