There are two seasons in central Europe, the white winter and the green winter. The difference being, in the green winter even the heating is turned off. Winter is the true native state here, summer a divine grace that may befall it, if God so pleases. As you may well note, my obdurate refusal to cheer up about it only darkens the already dour tapestry that is winter. Sprigs of trees, bare shrubs and bushes, shades of grey and pale, somber mornings that pass into dull noons and finally linger into the darkness of the afternoon. Premature endings to days that have barely begun.
And yet, it is still magical, the first sight of it! Those wondrous flocks of floating fluffs, drifting lazily through the star studded, sea of black skies. I still remember the first time I looked up into the falling sprinkles and felt their tingling land on my face, suspend in my hair, when everything obediently went silent as if in honour of this enchanting presence. Time itself slowed down, too bewitched, too spellbound to move on. Every last insignificant, overlooked detail got crowned by it's pristine white presence, as only nature with it's eye for detail is capable of. Highlighting the overlooked, making significant the insignificant, changing the face of all that it rested on. And when the sun comes out again, if God so pleases, the stars that travelled down will now shine and sparkle on the sheets of white that cover the earth. A little bit of heaven for you and me. A little bit of heaven for those who don't believe.
...Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!