incredible chill

sitting on the stone steps of the skupština, wearing new hand apparel and, in the end, being helped little because—first snow was falling. granted, it stayed in the air as itself (and only on the ground in liquid variety). got tapped on the shoulder from behind, then, and was all prepared to deal with another harangue (the type of which is becoming more and more par for the course whenever i'm just trying to steal the wireless, your honour). instead, a group of guys wanted to know if i was cold. yes, i replied, i am, indeed, very cold (i had to keep it at that, not knowing how to say "the marrow in my bones and the recesses of my heart are both frozen solid" without sounding medical and, possibly, perverse).

after we'd established that basic fact, one of them practically took my hand and led me inside another wing of the skupština, whose doors i have never seen open (although, sometimes, behind whose gauzy curtains i have managed to witness baroquely clad men and women, apparently rehearsing some sort of nationalist/revivalist drama). today, however, the space was being used for a wedding. the man kicked one of the guests out of his black chair in the corner and ensconced me in its vacancy; as i sat down with computer on my lap, having traded imitation puffs of "smoke" for the real thing, i shouldn't have been surprised at the turn of events (it's been—what?—a whole two weeks since the last time i was trapped in a wedding: unheard of).

the accordian player and the flag carrier, the bride in her winter coat buttoned over her lacy dress. these all disappeared for an interlude, and i was left in the lobby, tapping away, with a handful of scruffed men drinking beer from 2 liter bottles (the usual company). by avoiding eye contact, i managed to keep inquisitiveness about my machine at bay—but was not as successful when it came to my profession. there's a certain distrust, the origin of which i cannot seem to place, of foreign journalists here. once we'd settled that score (on factual, current but—oho—not hypothetical/potential terms), was free to compute my way through the event, until its members trudged out the door and i thought i, too, should be on my way. continued into town for various errands, one of which was: buying vegetables, outside, as the snow fell upon them.

everything one is able to do can, also, be done in the cold which lends an remarkability to even the most common of actions. it is its mixture of beauty and brutality that allows winter, among all seasons, to impart this sur-[but unmistakably]-real sense upon everything it pulls into its grasp. when the world is able to grow, we cannot doubt that its warmth has the capacity to sustain all sorts of limitless vegetative wonders. it is only when the seed pods have closed, when the frost lies in distinct, un-melted into each other, layers—in short, when nothing of consequence ought to be able to thaw, let alone graze the frozen wasteland as it makes to fly from this—that everything moving becomes, at once, astonishing. the streets are overrun with characters from long-ago tales; one of these is selling tomatoes; the snowflakes on the red skin remain as jewels long after they melt.