Winter. January. Ice
Winter. January. Ice
I'm sick of tiptoing around wondering if my next step will see my foot slip and me cracking my head open on the pavement. Sick of looking at the ground with a distinct sense of dread as the light reflects of the dangerous surface
Don't get me wrong, I quite like wrapping up warm with barely my face exposed to the elements, but clear streets would be a blessing
I'm sick of tiptoing around wondering if my next step will see my foot slip and me cracking my head open on the pavement. Sick of looking at the ground with a distinct sense of dread as the light reflects of the dangerous surface
Don't get me wrong, I quite like wrapping up warm with barely my face exposed to the elements, but clear streets would be a blessing