In my dreams, white flakes whirled through the city, propelled by a figure in a long coat and with a wooden staff in hand that towered above them. It looked as if the person was trying to give the snowflakes a beat, to teach them a dance, but the white icy stars danced each to their own liking. In the morning, however, I always woke up in the same dim light that showed me even before I was really awake, that my longing look outside would not show me any snow.
