In winter What is winter for me?
naturally cold and snow, even if it often is not there.
This unique crunch of their footsteps on the freshly fallen snow.
is stark gray-brown landscape is transformed by snow in a spotless white page, the form just barely visible trees, fences and the sketch on paper.
winter and heat, even in contrast to the cold, both can only be together. Outside the bitter frost that runs down to the deepest bone marrow, which prohibits any concentration to another, which can weaken any movement and biting into the corners of his eyes. Inside, the warmth, the glasses can be shod running, nose and feet very slowly thaws. Once outside take the heat as hot drink in a cup between the clammy fingers.
Winter is a great star, hung in a window.
winter darkness in the afternoon and the glaring brightness of the snow pack in the morning.
The water stains that have settled on the shoes.
The second of falling, when you think, oh, here it is smooth.
a case of red-cheeked apples fragrant in the porch.
A sudden snow persisting in the deer, the ears pricked.
In the city there is less winter than in the countryside.
The unfortunate snow men of my childhood, which Blades of grass from the stomach and chest stalked because the snow was so thin on the lawn.
The indignation of my mother because she found the desired pot on the head of the snowman.
your eyebrows when she found out that we greased our sled runners with margarine.
My father, snow shoveling in the driveway.
The winter, when He built an igloo.
Steaming tea into a cup.
Christmas cookies on a plate, crumbled tunnel.
tons of wrapping paper, plastic film and packaging material, ugly zusammengeknautscht in the trash to make room for additional quantities of plastic and paper.
A wet dog shake in the hallway the snow violently away, unpleasant-smelling and full of impetuous life.
The cat who sits with folded legs on a warm windowsill and then eyed the neighborhood.
My sister, as she held me gripped from behind to lather my face with snow.
gray overcast sky. Also
gray slush.
Colorless grasses. Fog. Ice sheets that say "Entering me" and the warning signs before it.
I, as a child, on a flooded, frozen wet meadow, below the knee, because I had fallen while skating. The skates, their knotted laces cut into the shoulder and the tiles to make a loud noise schlurrendes. Promising
The sparkle of the candles of the Christmas tree through the glass window of the living room door.
The swelling of the vote, when in the Christmas "Oh, you happy" is sung.
The crowds in the shopping streets, laden with filled bags and pockets. The
donations.
The chilliness in the room, despite untwisted heating.
The burning heat of the radiator.
The hissing, dripping with the juice of the baked apples on the bottom of the cooker.
The traffic, the voices all sound seem strangely muted by the snow.
yourself can not overcome to leave the apartment.
The inner compulsion to do it yet, because: The sun is shining.
young children in snow suits, which make them look like miniature Michelin Man, so incapacitated that they topple over in the snow.
people, their faces buried so deep in the mantle collar, they are hardly recognizable.
And of course the children screaming in an afternoon in the park on a slope, the runners cut through quite strongly. Cut is also the icy air by the wild cries of the children.
The feeling of no longer can remember the summer: this is winter.
