The day after the snow

It was the day after the snow.
Bright blue skies. Fresh dust-like snow rapidly melting as the day advanced.
Fluffy snow patches hanged from the twigs, making it all look like a dry and ready to be picked mid-summer cotton field, somewhere in the upper Galilee. The creek stumbled over rocks and ice, rushing away, as gray as silver.

Back home, I was on the sofa. Just for a short while and sun rays caressed my face through the window. I fell asleep with young voices laughingly chanting a fading tune. I was back at my grandparents home. I was with my children, whom they never met. We stood in the dining room. The chairs were on the table, as if someone has just washed the floors. I took the chairs down and pulled the heavy curtains to keep away the harsh late afternoon sun.

The curtains are long gone, but the sun keeps returning. There was no one there. Standing by the thick brown curtains, I missed them so much my heart ached. In my dream I thought: It has been over a year since we moved Here. It is the longest period of time in which we’ve been apart. But soon we will meet again.

Then I woke up, happy, on the verge of meeting my beloveds. In the here, so many years have passed.

Hibernia, the small cottage by the children pond:




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