Michelle Balogh

Brise Soleil

I can tell that it’s snowing before I open my eyes. The vast bedroom windows, two inches thick and double glazed, are purpose built to keep the weather at bay – but they’ve never been able to impose this kind of silence. The harbour is completely frozen over, rows of abandoned houses stretching down to the water are a grid of vague white angles. Rolling onto my back, I enjoy the blinding whiteness of seven AM. Three full minutes pass before I remember last night’s firestorm.