A Dream of Winter

I was always a winter-loving person.  I loved the short, crisp days and long nights, spent reading in a centrally-heated room or relaxing in front of the television.   I can hide in the darkness of my bedroom and enjoy the stillness of the night.

In my imagination,  I am in the most northern town in the world, Svalbard. It is pitch-dark there in winter, I know and the sun does not rise from November to February, but who needs the sun when the place has a magnetic charm of its own:  miles and miles of unblemished snow,  not a soul to be seen and the promise of a frequent, but not one-hundred-per-cent certain, Aurora Borealis or Northern Lights.  Those Northern Lights announce their appearance by loud crackling and the most beautiful swirls of pink, green and blue.  There is also a galaxy of a million stars, easily visible to the naked eye, which is never possible to those living in densely populated town areas- stars obliterated by too much artificial light.

I dream of going by sledge everywhere in Svalbard.   No cars clogging the roads and angry drivers hooting, no depressing news on television about coronavirus or the state of the economy - just me on my sledge, going wherever I want to in the white wilderness.

I am brought back to earth with an abrupt realization: I am hungry and it is time to cook dinner.