They announced earlier on the radio that it is minus eight outside. It’s not hard to believe, looking out of the window. For several weeks now the sun has been hidden above the cloud, its presence felt rather than seen. Over the last weekend, however, it made a very welcome appearance. On Saturday when we got up, the whole of the world outside was bright and clear, the light sparkling off the snow that fell just after Christmas and still lies in deep piles all along the sides of paths and roads. But with the brightness comes the cold. Deep blue skies are devoid of the cloud that insulates the earth and we watch the weather forecasters point to lows of minus fifteen and – how droll – highs of minus two. On the bus this morning the ice formed sparkling patterns on the inside of the windows and the places to hold on to – the metal bars – were difficult to keep hold of as they were so cold, even through gloves. Hold on you must as the driver still refuses to slow down or have any regard for his passengers, they’re just a nuisance that keeps him from reading the paper.
As we crossed the river I looked out of the window and was amazed at what I saw. Dotted across the water’s surface like strange, white lily-pads, small floes of ice drifted along with the current. Many carried a lazy seagull, hitching a ride further down the river. On one bank, the ice had formed into the river itself, a vast sheet populated by confused-looking cormorants and some lost ducks. The cormorants drying their wings in the weak morning sunlight; the ducks doing their usual busy swimming around. I was told the river wouldn’t freeze over because of the pollution in it, but it was hard to believe this morning, looking at the surface almost covered with the little blobs of white-tinged ice. I don’t want it to go much colder, I’m already wearing almost every piece of clothing I own, but I would like to see the river frozen over. I have to decide which I want more – warmth or novelty. I can’t decide.
Last weekend, in the trees near to the flat, a flock of two hundred Waxwings spent an hour, chattering and preening, resting from the cold. I’ve never seen one before and to see a whole flock of them completely covering a tree was amazing. They much be on their way to warmer places, as there’s nowhere to get food here. People do hang out bacon rind and bread, but the pigeons bully their way into getting most of it.
We took down our Christmas tree on Sunday. Rather than feeling sad that it had gone, our first Christmas tree together and the first in which I’ve taken an active part in its putting up and dismantling, I am positive in the feeling that this year will be good. The first of many spent with someone I really want to be with and who treats me like I really matter. More snow is forecast for the next week and as we trudged round the Old Town on Sunday, searching for a restaurant to hold the ‘wesele’, we realised how empty the city is in the winter. Many of the cafes take in their seats, leaving the ice and snow from the rooves free to crash down on a poorly-cordoned off footpath. Huge piles of ice now sit by every bus stop, the product of piling up snow after each successive fall. Some pavements are free of it, but many are still like glass, the ice and snow packed hard and worn smooth by hundreds of booted feet.
So the new year begins and I look forward to it. I always wanted to experience the cold of an eastern winter, to be freezing for weeks until one day there’s a breath of warm wind and the grass starts to grow again, the daffodils poking above the soil, announcing the start of another season. This year I get my wish, and by March I am pretty sure I will be welcoming the warmer air with open arms and, in stark contrast to now, an open coat!
No comments:
Post a Comment