burning letters

I think I'm coming round to Carlisle now. it's pretty but it's just not the big city I miss so much.

This is Mims, walking home from university the other day. the sun was blasting through the dead trees. some branches still cling to their orange, lifeless leaves like it will save them. the snow isn't here yet - who knows if it will ever come? we are in the lakes, masses of water, and yet everyone says it's always too cold to snow here.

I love the park we walk through every day, it changes as fast as the clouds move

The other night, it was frosty and dark ice hid on the pavements, but we went for a walk to burn old letters in the night. like some kind of ritual. they've gone forever and they can't mean anything now it's just ash on the roads