In my home town, the now almost mythical White Christmas was the norm. I remember winter as the dominant season of the year. We often had the first snow in November and the last in April. School started at twenty to eight and in winter it was still pitch black when I arrived there. Our Abitur prank consisted of shoveling so much snow in front of all the entrances of the school that nobody could get in. (And it worked! By the time the caretaker managed to open one of the doors, loads of students had returned home again.) We had so much snow that it was not so much something to have fun with as to battle with.
Only at Christmas time it was different. Normal routines were suspended and the snow suddenly became something wonderful. After a night of constant snowfall the wind would have made large snow dunes in the valley surrounding the town. The landscape no longer looked dark and drab but dazzlingly, blindingly white in the sunlight. The sky never seemed quite as intensely blue in summer as it did in winter. The air was crisp and clear.
At night the snow lit the darkness. On a clear night the moon was reflected in the layers of snow on trees, on roofs, on streets, and the night seemed brighter than the often overcast day. When we walked through the town in the evening, our steps were muffled by the snow. The constantly swirling snowflakes slowed life down, cut down noises and created a dreamlike, peaceful atmosphere.
Beside my bedroom were four fir trees and I can still hear the low rustling sound the branches made when the wind went through them. The trees have long gone, but for me nothing brings back memories of Christmas more than the sound of rustling fir trees on a cold winter’s night.
Have a very happy and peaceful Christmas! And a Happy, Healthy and Successful 2018!