I grew up under a hot, burning sun. There was no snow, not even winter. Both snow and winter I only knew from the tales of my grandmother and the old fairytale book where the woods were always dark and nearly black and there was a whole world full of snow involved in the most impressive tales such as in the tale of the Star-Money, where a little girl with bare-feet stands in an icy landscape till the stars fell down and as they reached the girl they became precious coins. Oh, how I wept about the poor barefooted girl. But here in a southern suburb of Berlin, where I am in he moment and for a few more days, there are no wrecked children, but a lovely park with hills and many old trees surrounding the park, the houses and the streets. Many children live here and none of them has no shoes to wear. Quite the opposite is true, the kids here wear boots that look like if you might walk across the Alps and they don’t wear things you just could simply call jackets or trousers but outdoor gear would be quite the appropriate term for the multifunctional, thermo-insulated and high-viz clothes they wear. Of course, they do not have only one sleigh but mostly three or four for their choice. And the sleighs look as they might be able to start in the Olympic Games. But when you as I do walk the dog around the park in the afternoon, you do not see as you might expect cheerful, happy children with apple-red cheeks, laughing or shouting. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that all the children are accompanied by their parents, who are their children’s devoted servants, who pull the sleigh up and down the hill, and assist their children in everything. I never knew beforehand that so much assistance would be needed for such a simple thing as to jump on the sleigh and to cart sledding but as someone who only knows the sun well, one should be probably more careful. But the children you see here, are either crying, nearly crying or just finished to cry. They fall from their sleighs but are not able to get up again, without the help of their personal assistants or are not able to pull the sleigh up on the hill. Most children just stumble through the snow, crying again or shouting at someone or kicking their boots off. The parents try their very best but alas it does not seem to be an easy thing to keep up the spirits. At least one child laughs as it runs down the snowman on his super-sleigh F. and I built yesterday. We should have thought of getting the poor chap a breastplate instead of a carrot.