ANOTHER MORNING. DAYLIGHT, and waves crashing against the window, a three-inch fog of bouncing grey felts the horizon and confused car alarms call for each other across flooded gullies. Steaming up the streaming glass with a mug of hot chocolate, I press my face to the window. The cat brushes against my ankles, mewling for attention. I am watching blurry bright colours moving through the rain and pondering the possibility of going out. Maybe I will just stay here watching. I can watch for hours, days. There is one month to the winter solstice, the shortest day. I should perhaps eat, and I
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