But out of the blue or better out of the grey, it starts to snow. And it does not stop, till the all the trees are thick covered with snow. The houses wear their white crowns with proud and the fences, built somewhere around 1900 and rusty but now looking fresh as never before. So much snow and all the neighbors gone, not a single footstep in this splendid white and then, F. and I run, fast and faster, slipping and sliding along the road down to the park. Snowballs we form and snowballs we throw as if we were still eight years old and the world a place of magic. We twirl around and even late at night, when we are cold and our finger and feet are frozen red, we can not stop to look out of the window, where more and more snow falls and the sky is so dark as if the stars are all gone like ourselves to build a snowman as high and as round as never before.

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