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you are not there

We are taking the little one for a ride on her new sled. It is bright orange, with a fuzzy black and white seat cover to keep her extra warm. Her tiny hands in tiny gloves hold the sides as tight as she can. I pull her down a path, shouting "woohooo" and then she replies "woohoo". N's turn is next, pulling her more schoolgirl than mother for a few minutes. There are other parents with children on sleds passing us. Their eyes straight forward, faces completely blank they slip by in silence. I flash a smile to them, and they do not even look at me. I am not there, just another tree leaning towards the stream that runs below.

There are ducks still, flapping around the brackish water and we throw pieces of stale bread to them. I start to think, not about the complete absence of smiles in this culture. I stopped asking about that long ago, told over and again that smiles are reserved for home, behind closed doors. But I wonder, for the children -  these wiggling bu…

Christmas card from Kurskaya

heavy weighs the crown

The First Night

Time

no post this week

rumashki

tiny movements

Cracker Jack

black on black

"None of us are Free"

rocks, coins and angels

Studencheskaya!

the taste of coins

torn

the balcony was open

колготки (tights)

Mexican blankets and clowns

a late birthday in New York

from plastic cups

сорок один (forty one)

Postcards from late summer

jholtei ghorka (the yellow slide)

хлеб (bread)

How I surrendered to Northern Italy

the midnight sun and the white crow

лица жизни (the street of life)

the electro-train from Domodedovo

a wedding

the irony of seeds

позже (later)

The Bubble Boy

leading the donkey into the metro

пертсовка (pertsovka) and the happy worker

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best personal blogs