snow

Winter has come to Berlin.

Waking up in the morning to the white glow of falling snow and laced bare trees is an absolute dream. The city is almost silent with its muffling layer of frosting as if the cold flakes powered down the roar of a city that cannot resist reveling in the bitter winter. Women's faces--old and young--are alight before the magical production of the drifting ice blossoms. Hatted inhabitants stick out their tongues for a taste of the strange sugar, and dogs emerge from the subway ahead of their owners to forge the storm and the biting air.

Outside, two children--rosy and golden--amaze in the white field while mothers with youngers look on and bounce to the beat of their own childish hearts--too near and too quick to forget. Boots caps and mittens are all that stand between us and our frozen drops, and the steam emerging from our warm lips twists and turns in the drafts, searching for someone to inhale it in a long kiss. Falling fast and small, the whole earth is covered like the thin surface of a delicious desert, waiting to be cracked and devoured.