Twenty-First Century cave art on window glass.
A fine snow blows this morning and seems to settle eventually only because it has nowhere else to go. For the most part it swarms in the cold wind like pale insects.
The stall holders shiver at The Farmers' Market, at least those who have turned up. But one of the garden plant stalls is there. "Not a good day for business", I say to the stall holder who is shrouded in woolies. "Except for the snowdrops," she says. They are for sale still in bud in little plastic pots. "They're topical!"