Through children's eyes, we watch the innocence of Winter even out all flaws, cover bad hair and freeze our harsh. Our hands release their grand gestures, open again. No effort glides into one foot nor into the other; we make the rhythm of the night, instead. Our lips harmonise when I look up. To have the moon sing to us in halo has been a recurring dream.
In cold weather, our steady garland breathing betrays, how deeply, we have been longing for almost nothing. Laughing, we free fall into a white new silence that we wear as scarf and hat, as taught by our Mothers.