Personal Blog

(prompted by this article from Saturday's 'The Guardian'.

…lifting from my dreams into dull echoes from beyond my pane; that soft silence.
Brightness assaulted my waking eyes, as I strained to steady my gaze onto the folds and lumps across the town: an unusual signature lay across this town - a blanket of orange snow.
Face hardened.
Once outside, and crouched a finger-pair retreated from the small pile of rogue snow that now collapsed into an assault of fizzing acids and nitrates, recruited or press-ganged from nuclear cauldrons, and encircling industrial hubris: oily, smelly metallurgical storm debris. Not white.

posted by Hugh O'Donnell @ 3:42 PM