Winter comes to Prague

This morning I was chatting with That Girl (funny how ‘chat’ has been completely redefined in the age of the internet). We were talking about being together, which we are not right now, and we got to discussing the unique together-vibe that every room carries when we are together. Some rooms you can probably predict the nature of the vibe, while others are uniquely us. (Even the predictable places have our own resonances, of course, our own history and traditions layerd on top. It was fun to think about those things, and play with the unique vocabulary we have developed, shortcuts to memories. But this episode isn’t about rooms, it’s about seasons.

I’m sitting right now at Little Café Near Home, and behind me, outside the window, cars are hissing past on the wet pavement. It has been raining, one of those rains that chills you from the center out, makes you dream of tropical places or warm fires. It is the perfect weather to film a cough drop commercial, except that the crew would be miserable.

Then, a few minutes ago the pitter-pat of the rain disappeared and I looked out and it was snowing. Still cold, still wet, but snowing. And somehow that made it all better. Not just better, but good. We have moved from the cold, dry nights of autumn, with leaves skittering in the vagrant wind, down the hallway of uncertain weather to arrive at winter.

One of Prague’s graces is that she wears all the seasons so well, with unreserved intensity. I love the old girl at times like this, when she puts on her new outfit and spins for inspection. She’s donned her winter apparrel a thousand times before, but every time she does, it’s new. (I suspect that there are very few locals who would agree with me on that one.)

The rain turns to snow, dusk arrives at midafternoon. Indoor time. Cuddling weather, time for camping under a toasty tent for two. Prague would be perfect, but she lacks two things: a fireplace (this remains the greatest mystery of czech culture to me — cold weather, buildings that don’t burn, and no fireplaces) and That Girl. Next winter I will be in a place that includes That Girl, and ideally a fireplace here and there as well.

3 thoughts on “Winter comes to Prague

  1. You’re several latitudes north of me, but we got drifting flakes too. They melted on contact and the sun was out in full force within an hour.
    All things are new and cool when you are 4 years old. The tadpole was excited to see his breath the other night. He said, “Look daddy I breathed fire. I’m gonna use my breath to blow away the dark.”
    Blow away the dark? I declare, that boy got some native ‘merican in ‘im.
    Later, on the drive home from daycare, he complimented me on my ability to have continual new music in my car. I tried to explain to him that it wasn’t me, but the radio. What’s radio? I immediately launched into an explanation of a place elsewhere that has lots of new music and they broadcast it over air and into our car. It was above his head, and I stopped my spiel when I thought about how figurative the concept of “on air” is and not well understood by 4 year olds. But isn’t it cool? – French is always first in line when they hand out trophies for most beautiful/poetic language, but think about english using the concept of radio traveling “over the air” to our ears. Pshaw on transmitted, electromagnetic energy, that passes right thru lots of substances, the least of which is air. That isn’t nearly so bon as “over the air.”

  2. And at Five O’Clock Somewhere, no television. Broadcast signals don’t reach there, and we’ve cut the satellite as a luxury we can’t currently afford.

    Firewood, however, is plentiful.

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