Vanessa, Willy and little Mine
"This is one amazing snow man! In fact I think it is the biggest one I have seen all season."
How did they react?
They all smiled. Mine was shy at first but a few minutes later she reacted in her own language, stroking me with her balloon she kept saying, "poke, poke, poke..." and smiling more broader than before.
How did I feel?
This afternoon I went for a run at my favorite Berlin park. I was surprised: Snow was covering the fields. It had already melted from the streets so when I entered the park it looked like within a second tons of flour had exploded over the city. Winter wonderland, right there. I grinned. Then started swerving down the paths of the Tempeflhofer Feld. 20 minutes into my route I passed a family who built a snowman. The mom was picking leaves of grass which she put on top of the snowman’s body, creating a face for him. He was tall and his curves perfect. The family’s daughter lolloped around him, a balloon in her hand. They looked beautiful together. When I approached them the girl eyed me interestedly. I told them I dug their snow man and asked how long it took to create it. The mother, Vanessa, answered, “Not long at all! It’s been 10 minutes I think…” Their faces open they were easy to talk to. I stayed for a bit, let my breathing calm down and talked to the girl:
“What’s your name?”
“And how old are you?”
She hid behind her balloon.Vanessa said, “Hey, Mine, wanna show her how old you are?”
Mine put out her thumb and her index finger. Two.
I said, “Wow! And have you given your snowman a name?”
She hid behind her mom’s legs. Then she went to the snow man and took a long, intense look at him.
Vanessa said, “Do you want to name him? Maybe after a child who goes to kindergarden with you?”
Mine’s face lit up. “Yessss!”
Vanessa asked her, “So who?”
“Alright, Bilal it is!”
Now Mine decided to examine that woman --me -- a bit further. She walked up to me. The balloon in her hand turned into her wand. When she was one foot away from me she touched me with the balloon. Carefully she stroked my arm, up and down, smiled and said, “Poke, poke, poke…”. Her voice sounded like a mix between a kitten, a little bird and a recorder. She was personified sweetness.
I let her play the poking game a bit more, then took a picture of the family (which Willy, the dad, pimped Bilal for: For thirty seconds that snowman owned a pair of glasses). We waved at each other, then I ran off, gasping my way through the ice cold air in flour dreamland.