I sit, looking out the open window
Snow is all around.
Soft light, falling on dead brown leaves,
Still clinging to the sleeping trees.
A coffee stain spreads across the paper.
A small bird alights upon a branch
Its toes cling to the twig
All dressed up in white and black
A coal-colored cap.
I watch the bobbling pigeons
A cold wind stirs my hair
I listen to the city sounds:
*Marshrutkas bumbling down the road.
Branches crackling against each other
A Russian street ad blares on a loudspeaker;
Echos off the building walls
Snow crunches beneath the feet of passersby
And I sit, looking out the open window.
*Marshrutka is a minibus in Karaganda Kazakhstan
more by Lëaf Ednïwinga
photograph by Rafal Buch
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