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Warm reveries

By LeGabbs All Rights Reserved ©

Other

Chapter 1

It smells like sleep. Winter catches me in the position of the Thinker of Rodin among rushing men after Christmas presents. The streets are slowly covered in silvered mohair . Time-barefoot on the asphalt-, is running without listening to us. Hurried souls emanate heat, with the desire to pleasantly surprise relatives back home.

It smells of holidays in Cluj. The multitude of posters, advertisements - invites you to Carol and lets you easily persuaded. It seems as if the Holidays lure is intended for our need to exist with each other, for each other. The scenery is enchanting me- the hats, scarves, the red cheeks and the delighted expressions on children faces counting the days until Christmas . Those who visit Cluj may encounter on any street the pure enthusiasm and sheer happiness at the festal occasion. It's everywhere.

I contemplate a pair of youngsters spinning on the ice. It's a quick glance, informative…then the wish to join them is slowly crawling into my chest and with passing moments the desire becomes imperative. With one last wistful smile I trail off from the skating-ring. Inevitably, you are called to enjoy what your city offers you.

It`s snowing over tired old gestures, over the glances, over worrying, over thoughts, over the city at the foot of the Dormition. I feel the waiting. But now, the waiting, is not about losing all sense of time, it`s about desire, emotion. My mind gets stuck in front of thousands of lights carrying out its show. A pleasant anxiety grips me in crowded markets, where, this time, I smell cinnamon and mulled wine. My arbitrary memory will not let me lose the image of my child self adorning the Christmas tree with shimmering decorations . I feel the scent of Tangerine. I wonder if everything is tangible, repeatable, possible at any time, for only at winter I become at peace with myself.

The stores have become visible and warm. Decorations and promotions. Filled shopping bags and emptier wallets..

There is no deserted local. Only lights, good will and more crowded tables . In a traditional decor and fine chosen music, you can enjoy marinated grilled ribs and a glass of wine. For heels and bows, always remain the premises with salmon, long stemmed glasses and Frank Sinatra 's "I'll Be Home for Christmas" .

Somehow, Cluj has managed to always bring something, even when there was no longer hope for anything.

Today I caught a moment of unexpected kindness. I surprised the frozen face of a gentleman, whose eyes were getting teary and emotional. Among the multitude of shoes that passed near him, a couple stopped to offer him something. It might have been a simple soup, but for him it was hope.

I miss my family. I'm getting ready to reunite with them… to taste my grandmother`s delicious pretzels and answer my uncle's many questions . Mother with new observations related to the color of my hair and the rest of my family which sometimes gives the impression of a whole city. For me this is holiday to be able to gather in the same place at the same time with many loved ones .

Among the lights, the shows and an impetuous city, today I found myself alone.

It`s evening , and with it a place of idleness. My eyes remain fixed on the frozen windows, neatly trimmed with ornaments. In the evening, the time stops. And while Cluj prepares for celebration , I go slowly, keeping true to my same role as the Thinker of Rodin.

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