I took a frigid walk this morning, up the icy hill of Granite Street beneath a slice of a silver moon. It was probably foolish of me to climb a street that seemed sheer ice, but I somehow survived, plotting a course carefully up and down the hill three times. The wind was a squally one that pushed me up the hill and then drove against me coming down. There seemed to be hardly any cars out and about, just a few lamps in windows, and only a couple of strings of holidays lights lit up in the darkness. The silver piece of moon was the brightest and cheeriest sight I saw.