A long train trip behind us and an even longer one stretching into our future, a few days at a mountain lake paradise were called for. Sitting on a rock in the sun my cold began to slowly fade, scent of pine needles a Christmasy cure-all.

Rejuvenated, I wandered in that magical light that only cones to a forest at dusk. Objects spotlighted by an unseen director: a pinecone on a rotten stump, a twisted branch on the forest floor, moss in a bubbling brook. Long deep breaths.