Snow is falling on the train, on the tracks, on me. Snow is falling. From a distance, I catch the sound of music; it appears as though someone is strumming a guitar. My friend is boarding the train. While seeing her off, I am also waiting for my bus to arrive, watching my friend’s train leave with great attention. The tracks, the roads, and the hems of my trousers are covered in snow. It’s cold, but I don’t mind. I prioritize my visual pleasure over my needs. Perhaps I just want to allow certain things to make me happy. Or maybe I believe that this happiness is much greater than the discomfort I will endure. The snowfall is getting heavier.
I feel sad thinking that the white blanket that has been illuminating the darkness of this country for days will melt and disappear within a few days. Because I feel I’ve grown accustomed to this color. I know I want the feeling of increased gravity while walking from my home to the stop because of it, watching the white particles floating around from the bus window, the trees donning white cardigans looking cold for having been leafless for days, and the waters trying to flow from the rocks turning into ownerless beards instead, to continue. I like it when “things” happen. I know that we will soil this pristine blanket just as we soil everything else, it won’t remain pure white even if it doesn’t melt, that roads can close and services can be canceled while I am miles away from my home, and I might even get lost. But I accept that while some things are happening, some things might not happen.
I guess only in such exceptional circumstances can my eyes activate my heart. I fear that the melting snow might also take away some of my feelings. I recognize the value of blessings and beauties that lead to gratitude towards God.
