Everything was white. The snow was oppressive like a sinister white omen. In some countries, white is the color of mourning. No wonder, it also is the color of the skin of the oppressor. My father was driving. He braked too suddenly. The car hit a tree, an apple tree. My mother went through the windscreen. Suddenly there was blood on the snow. I still don’t want to drive. Just can’t.

Nobody listened to me to my feelings. Then as before as later.

For a long time, I hated the snow the cold the emptiness the silence of January. But now I love starting a new year. The further the better…

Trees by empty road

Snow all around but no peace

Blood on baleful white