I have new, clean sheets on my bed. I only bought them this lunchtime and have just taken them from the tumbledryer. They were warm enough when I put them on that they are now as neat and straight as though I had freshly ironed them. I can smell the heat and the powder and find it comforting, like bread baking. They are blue and floral, and by my toes as I type is a purple flower, like a daisy, about the size of my thumb. Tomorrow, they will have been used and I will soon want to start things over again. Now, however, their novelty is a part of their attraction and I look forward to cuddling up in them, and now I feel like I am sitting on a clear, white field of warm snow, where the flowers peek through miraculously and there is no grass or muck to ruin things.