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Ludmila Balabanova

Snow Again

I wake late on that Sunday morning in the very beginning of winter. A radio plays somewhere. I hear a jolly melody but don't understand the text. A little later I understand only the words: "everything begins from today... everything begins from today..." My husband has already gotten up. I draw the curtains. It is snowing. The first snow that winter. My son has gotten up, too and is playing outside. It has probably been snowing all night because everything is covered - the trees, the lawn in front of the door, the benches. The world is as if newly born. Only the children's traces have drawn odd circles on the clear white surface. The song is not over yet and the pleasant woman's voice tries to pursue me: "everything begins from today... everything begins from today..."

snow again
how much my son's footprints
have grown