Today the frost never quite went away from the tops of buildings never touched by the sun, or from the earth always in shadow. One side of North Bridge was glittering from 10am to 4pm and covered in doodles of people making their (somewhat impermanent) marks by noon. It was cold enough to turn your nose rudolph-red after a venture outside, but it was a crisp and shiny afternoon: made more brilliant by the reflections off the frost and only hazy at sunset as the steam from thousands of bodies and vehicles clouded the light. Along the gardens, one of the only places to get a good amount of sun during they day in Edinburgh, the frost remained in curious lines inside the shadows of park benches, while all around the grass was still spring-green.


Walking through the meadow was nothing less than an entrance into a Currier and Ives postcard. [A similie I struggle to include, by the way. We've come to relate the very idyllic and cheesy to Currier and Ives, but its now gotten to the point that even saying "like Currier and Ives" is cheesy.] The icy grass was crunchy underfoot if we ventured off of the pavement lined with bare, inky trees, and groups of brave atheletes ran about in the frost, their bodies giving off as much steam as their heavy breathing. Grunts as sharp as the air surrounding us were heard as they laboured to keep warm.
The smallest of hills- still surprisingly green underneath the dusting of snow- sloped gently in front of 18th century houses beginning to go hazy in the dimming light but highlighted by street lamps that shone from the distance like small orbs of fuzzy yellow light. The landscape could only have been more postcard-ish with the entrance of two children bundled in winter coats dragging a small red sled up the tiny incline, their tobaggan hats bouncing up and down while they waddled as only children in 5 layers of clothing can do. I had to stop mid-step, Starbucks coffee steaming madly from my gloved hand, and exclaim how perfect the scene was.