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Dziadek i babcia
December 1982, on the cold, snow-covered streets of Nicolai.
When a woman with 2 children aged 14 and 3 received the long-awaited but equally dreaded letter that the time had come.
In the warmest clothes the family could muster.
Smelling of roses and fruit to keep up the appearance of a lady.
Hiding everything that was dear to her in the diaper of the sleeping child.
Always keeping a firm grip on her husband's wooden pipe, which reminded her of him and his smell.
The trembling of fear veiled under the cold of the Eastern Bloc, with the hope in their hearts that carried them through the night together.
The air smelled of smoke and soot from the pipe long out of use, of her dark brown, varnished oak body. Mixed with Grandma's scent of roses and fruit in a perfect symbiosis that slowly blurred into a picture.
Safely on the first train, she pulled a picture out of her jacket pocket, a picture whose significance was so great...
You could smell the yellowed old paper and the smell of the vanilla tobacco smoked in the house, which left a hint of amber and vanilla in the carriage.
She closed her eyes, thought of Grandpa, of the picture of her family, her children's hands clasped in her own, with the priest's words, the father's words and the son's words in her mind, she fell asleep....
When a woman with 2 children aged 14 and 3 received the long-awaited but equally dreaded letter that the time had come.
In the warmest clothes the family could muster.
Smelling of roses and fruit to keep up the appearance of a lady.
Hiding everything that was dear to her in the diaper of the sleeping child.
Always keeping a firm grip on her husband's wooden pipe, which reminded her of him and his smell.
The trembling of fear veiled under the cold of the Eastern Bloc, with the hope in their hearts that carried them through the night together.
The air smelled of smoke and soot from the pipe long out of use, of her dark brown, varnished oak body. Mixed with Grandma's scent of roses and fruit in a perfect symbiosis that slowly blurred into a picture.
Safely on the first train, she pulled a picture out of her jacket pocket, a picture whose significance was so great...
You could smell the yellowed old paper and the smell of the vanilla tobacco smoked in the house, which left a hint of amber and vanilla in the carriage.
She closed her eyes, thought of Grandpa, of the picture of her family, her children's hands clasped in her own, with the priest's words, the father's words and the son's words in her mind, she fell asleep....
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Micadrko