Winter was at war. Her subterfuge: Crumble grey-white flakes upon the scene.
The air, dead; Dead too, the sound – Blunted by the whitewash. Motion, dead – Bluing chill saw to that.
Everything ground to a halt – Like an empty train, crawling, seizing; Eventually to die sprawled along a ghosted platform – A lifeless plain of concrete.
I still had far to go – Or so this brain computed – Tried to – Inside my own raging storm of white noise, Howling in its desperation.
Now wild, blitz-wild, I bore an irrepressible thought – A goal, focus, idée fixe:
To clasp a frosted hand around A radiant mug of sugar-laden Calorie-heavy Full-fat milk chocolate – Steam wraiths writhing over A freshly-spooned whirlpool, Sultry in their invitation: ‘Come, sip, sip some more; Soothe yourself in balmy richness.’
“When I was younger, I played trumpet in a jazz band. I bring it up, because what makes great jazz is when the musician breaks the rules. When they do the unexpected. When you listen to a trained musician who knows all the rules and knows how to break them, you want to listen to their music over and over again. The same is true in design. Taking risks in design is what makes design interesting, but designers are usually making something for someone else. We need to develop a relationship strong enough that you will trust us when we say the payoff will be worth the risk.”—