Evening tea with cinnamon

Shards of stars fall from the sky, is night and me at the window as usual. I love the atmosphere of winter in the evening time…


Imagine some candles, a book, a hug, a gift ribbon fallen on the floor and many stories. I am watching the snow on the street and from every snowflake I am making a story. You know, like when we were kids and we used to invent stories from every little thing. Something like… the fallen leaves on the ground, turn them into big and white butterflies, the sugar  box from the kitchen turns into snow, then you sit on the snow and watch the stars, it looks like a winter blanket which you use to warm up. And sitting there, waiting, you feel like actually sleep somewhere between the clouds and your bed is as whole sky.


Snowing like in a love story. Nostalgia, love, regrets … a slight pain of a lost love. Snow brings the silence, kills the words but animate the thoughts. And, in the silence of the street, someone on the other side of the sidewalk trying to remove snow… so sad, an emancipated slavery. The time is frozen, and the petty world pass by my window  playing their idiot role. No one thinks that in fact that time is created for hot chocolate and tea with cinnamon, not for any other kind of stupid pettiness. I never understood why older people do not like winter. At least during winter, we feel that everything it is pure.


The houses covered by the snow look like cakes covered by fluffy whip cream and the glow of the snow seems like someone has sprinkled sparkles on it. How nice, isn’t it? I  never liked the  cakes but the idea that everything looks like a big cream cake, makes me smile.


And I am thinking about us… what would happen if the sky would froze us embraced, you know, as one framed photo, so many memories, so many dreams.  To stay so embraced, dreaming the sound of wind, clothed with purity of snow and slide on ice made ​​of tears lost in another world. A better one, only for us,  made by remnants of happiness and smiles, made by snowflakes, winters,  white,  silence…


(All photos on this post are copyrighted material and all rights are reserved Margò Wiessman)

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