The end of this winter is turning out perfectly. Let me paint you a comparative picture;
New England etc; that indescribable late autmn russet color that Robert Lowell never found words for in his madness
Scotland; The first green at the end of a long winter when the sun shines and is warm and hope (and sex) is in the air
and thus the end of a Russian winter can be two things and unfortunately they are not mutually exclusive; crystal clear, cold and beautiful or grey, with clouds a centimeter above your head and large puddles of melt with last winters dog shit and cigarette butts reaching for the surface.
The glass is half full at the moment. My study window faces on to the back of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs ("MID") one of Stalin's 7 Wedding Cakes or more commonly Visotkas.
The camera on my Treo 650 does it no justice. The view is crystal clear and utterly beautiful.
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