This morning I awoke to the sound of the wind howling outside and the pattering of raindrops on the window-pane. Like Proust's narrator, I often spend some minutes looking at the thin crack of daylight above the curtains to imagine the kind of day it will be. It felt good under the warmth and heaviness of my winter quilt but that made it harder to leave my bed and face the world. In the evenings, I look from my balcony to a street that runs parallel to mine and particularly to a large skylight on the top floor which glows with warmth. Since I returned from Italy, I haven't stopped thinking about about the light and colours there. Every rain filled day makes me miss it a bit more. Berlin in late autumn and winter is very grey and you're grateful for every break in the clouds. I long for cold, dry winter's days with snow sparkling in the brilliant sunshine and dream about spending Christmas in Canada making snowmen. Yet I try to take comfort the the little things; at dusk, the streets are filled with Christmas lights and the brilliant illuminations of shop window decorations. Soon, I'll visit the markets for Glühwein, Lebkuchen and waffles. I make tisane and learn Italian on the sofa or read Proust and a fabulous book on Boris Vian which another wonderful blogger sent me. I watch New Wave films, especially those with the lovely and charming Anna Karina who inspired me to get a new hairstyle and I even found the missing Truffaut film in my collection after years of searching which I hope to watch later.