You feel static, existing in a void. Some kind of a claustrophobic emptiness. So grey. Almost noiseless, like dry yellow leaves falling on soggy mud. Like snow. Little snowflakes descending silently on everything, the trees, the land, the roofs, the empty wooden benches in the park, the top of the street lamps. Enshrouding the whole landscape in a stillness. A thin layer of soft snow melting the sharp edges into white. Just white. You can almost touch it. Prod it with your fingers and feel it reduced to drops of water. To drops of nothingness on the tips of your cold numb fingers.