Lightly falling, dancing on wind currents, and lying like a blanket covering the land. Fun to play in, great to stay indoors from, peaceful to watch. Day spent looking out the window, watching, and thinking.
Heard a story that day, about an elderly mother wishing she could see her daughter, whom she had not seen in three years. The daughter, working far from home, received a telegram from her mother: I’m in poor health, won’t make it through the winter, I want to see you. Me? Go back there? It’s boring in that small village and the train ride is unpleasant. The telegram was placed on a desk to be forgotten. Another telegram. Daughter tried to make it home for the funeral but wasn’t successful. She arrived two days after, regretting not returning home earlier.
I watched the snow fall that day listening to that story in Russian class. The gray sky, white snow playfully (or was it wistfully) falling, orange-brown leaves in the background. How do you feel, the teacher asks, What are you feeling right now? Grief, pity, remorse came to mind. They came to everybody’s mind. Your homework: If you were sitting across from the daughter on the train ride back to the city and she told you her story, what would you say to her?
I walked home after class, cold snow on warm cheeks. Snow, usually cheerful, went with the mood of the story that day: cold, blistery, gray.