The trees have lost most of their leaves, which isn’t so bad; who doesn’t enjoy the architectural silhouettes of the branches against the white December sky?
A procession of ghosts made its way down the staircase, rustling the leaves.
The river inspired optimism, notwithstanding the chemicals and sludge that will leach into its waters from the polluted banks for the next ten thousand years.
Even the busiest bridge in the world appears solitary, if not quite forlorn, from the shores below.
