pring snow

There is something about returning to the place which you have left behind. Something about the shape of your movements there that are somehow awkward and irregular. A hesitation on the part of yourself and the people you know to face the reality that you are gone and are now just visiting. I have reached that point with Chicago. Somehow disengaged from the people and the places I wander through the night with only my studio to bring me comfort, a place apart from the world in which I can still return to create. I feel as if I am in some transition phase of my life. Not quite here, not quite there, I am still on the road between. I miss my place in London, its charm holds me here while I watch it snow in Chicago on the second day of spring. This cold typifies Chicago, a slight delay from the rest of the world, just behind everything else it sleeps for a month or so after the rest of the world has awoken from winter. Chicago rolls over, hits the snooze and the snowflakes continue to drift downward and cover the ground like a comforting blanket in the last hours of its slumber. Nice place to visit, but living here is as grey as the midwestern sky.

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