Winter drags the heat from my thoughts,my pockets clash with warm gloves,rubber bands are no longer Conkers and i am no longer young, as the Corus in diamonds on her shoes does not reflect the stars in the night sky. The day has already begun it's journey to dusty history books what will historians glue to this day in one hundred years time,certainly not me in chocolate frog mode and really my experiment to scribble here whilst music echoes around this dusty room is perhaps a mishap. There is something about silence, and thoughts tumbling through the waterfalls of ones own mind. Music without notes and yet i am here....
