When winter comes to my town, but the grass is as green as in summer, – if only now it is covered with the withered leaves, resembling coffee with milk by their colour, –
When in my town the clouds freeze and become like the heaps of snow, – though, most probably, they remind me of some other town where the heaps of snow are as white as clouds, –
When in my town on the news they speak about shops, turkeys, puddings, presents, postcards, santa clauses, babies in the cradles, – even if not everyone believes in the feast and celebrates it, –
When the streets are silent because nobody likes the cold and tries to leave the house as seldom as possible, – although, of course, one has to go out for newspapers and milk, –
When in my street they hanged about ten multicolour boxes and garlands on a streetlamp, and on the next one, and on the next one, – granted that all boxes are, obviously, empty, –
When from my flat’s window I see the street where people are walking and speaking about the shops, turkeys, presents, and they don’t like cold, – just like the streetlamp where the boxes hang, –
When I hold in my hand a cup with hot chocolate and simply look from my window at people, who walk from the shops with turkeys and presents, – and who don’t like the cold, just like me, –
When the hot chocolate takes me back to my childhood, when you are waiting for a holiday not because this is how it should be, but because you don’t know what a holiday is, – this is the wisest, isn’t it, –
When childhood is visiting as the memories of the snow outside the window, and of the heaps of snow that look like white clouds full of snowfall, – it was so long ago, but I still remember, –
When something pinches strangely in your chest, because there is memory, but the time has gone so far, that, it seems, it’s impossible to remember, – and you don’t want to talk or to listen to anybody, –
Then, finally, I turn a recorder on, and with a husky “tara-ti-tara-hey” begins a miracle, of which I know nothing, – but this is exactly why I believe in it…
*The text references the beginning of Sparring Partner by Paolo Conte.
English translation © Julia Shuvalova
Image credit © Julia Shuvalova
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