A cloudy winter day. The sky over the city is entirely tightened as dim linen. From the snow which fell some days ago, has not left even a trace. But even this short term was suffice that the children could make snowmen, play enough in snowballs, adult could enjoy the fresh frosty air, and all together could estimate, let it be short, as wedding, but the same solemn and exciting ceremony of the first and, probably, the only thing in this winter of snowfall.
Snow in Ashkhabad – always a small holiday, a reminder of childhood. For some reason cloudy weather and rains, especially winter, are considered as grief companions. Snow is a cleanliness and pleasure symbol, sun rays – heat and light. And rains? Grief companions? Certainly, no! Snow can fall only in winter, and rains, they as cats, walk by itself, and at any time year.
In such days if it is not necessary to hurry up for work, it would not be desirable to leave the house. In streets there are not enough people, rare passers-by, muffling up in scarfs and hoods, taking cover umbrellas, hasten by their business; on wet benches they do not sit, having nestled shoulders old men, beloved couples are not visible, absorbed with each other and not noticing anything around.
It seems, in the world anything interesting does not occur, all is filled only by dampness. It would seem, cloudy day and in one’s soul there should be a bad weather, but it is only at first sight. There is enough, even for a short while to leave cosy and warm habitation and to walk in the wet and frowned city, looking at faces of people, listening to oneself, rejoicing at what you are given one more day and one should live it bright and joyful. And then your sight at a lowering sky will change, and you will manage to make out and understand much.
You walk in the streets filled with water, and the city submissively accepts everything that sends the sky, – both summer heat and winter colds. By you as fishes in a huge aquarium, buses and cars float. Trees and houses, the avenues of parks covered as a veil by a grid of small and frequent drops, shined with incorrect, gloomy light, seem illusive and mysterious. Cloudy day and people look in an especial way, unlike in summer. And you catch yourself on thought that the bad weather unites all of us going on cold streets. We are as though participants, actors and spectators of the paly under the title «A winter city».
Having strolled, you come back home and try to understand: what it has been filled, this day in which like anything especial would not occur. Also you remember that tears have filled your eyes when a kid who is punished by his mum wrongly, began to cry for that he accidentally plopped down in a pool.
Your heart was compressed from a pain at the sight of an old woman who has slipped on wet asphalt and you, without deliberating, rushed to lift her. You were captured by tenderness when the elderly man carefully wrapped up with a scarf the neck of the same elderly spouse. You have choked with delight, looking at a future mother who with the quiet air walked along the street, with majestic dignity she bore the sacred burden, how much nobleness was in her movements, how many light her eyes radiated. You wished to embrace in a kind way an unfamiliar passer-by who smiled with an understanding smile.
Then, it appears that you have knowingly lived this day, let it be cold and wet. May be, for this reason we have cloudy, rainy, snow days so that we could make out light in ourselves. However, it does not depend on the season.