Blanketed


You know, when I’d said you would probably never be rid of my endless stream of excited photography, I wasn’t kidding around. The very first of the snow showers has come and gone, and I’ve been busy.

(Clogging up your reader feeds, that is,)

Feast your eyes on this!

My friend said this seemed to belong in a British drama, for some reason. Do you see that happening? Perhaps someone having run and skid across this snow, slipping away from Scotland Yard to hide away in an old, dilapidated Victorian building with carillon bells ringing from a big tower window (Yup, it is actually called a carillon, and I just learned that this month. I can’t just have me going back to plain ol’ ‘church bells’. How bourgeois) as the guy freezes and shakes simultaneously, bells intensifying as the camera whips back and forth from a shot of the panicked man to a troop stained in the colours of the old stained glass windows as we all hold in a breath and wait.

Then it turns out his footprints in the snow practically lead Scotland Yard up to him and we get a very close look at a drop of sweat on our protagonist’s nose (yep, he sure cleaned it out this morning!) before the director decides we deserve to wait another week to know how that ends up.

In fact, it’s quite a European cross-country chase scene. Except they’d probably kick me out of uni for calling that building old. It’s neo-gothic, have some taste.

I don’t know, it’s late, I’m tired I’m generous, I’ll let you come up with your own story for this one; I just get to enjoy this good looking walk home.

6 thoughts on “Blanketed”

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