The way a place feels always changes with the seasons and with the weather. Streets that were bright and full of life on a sunny August morning are sad and seem dead in November when it’s raining. A single place can be surrealistically beautiful one day, and yet utterly decrepit the next.
Despite the numerous wonderful moods of a place, I still think the most amazing time to be out in town is after dark when it’s snowing lightly. The swirling snow in the orange of street lights, the way everyone else is just a blurry black silhouette. For a little while, I’m not walking streets I know all too well. For that short time, I’m in some other place, or maybe some other time, and that is truly magical.