Pajamas of mice, hurried steps crossing the room to the large window. The girl’s excited cries crossed the house: “Snow! Wake up, everything full of snow!” And without waiting for an answer she ran back to the room, now rummaging through her closet.
Blue coat, stripped boots. Papa Bach helped her get dressed while restless she would not stop rushing him; quiet and patient he wrapped her hands in soft white gloves, letting her go with a slight smile. She threw herself at his neck and placed a quick kiss on the big man’s cheek.
White fluffy snow, snow everywhere. And little Tchaiko was happy, because she loved snow; as much as mice, as much as music. She turned and turned on the white space, endlessly laughing, the ribbon moving over her blond hair. Her sister Bada joined her later, and the pair spin holding hands.
Snowmen filling the yard like an army. They made them big and small, beautifully decorated. Tchaiko played with them, rod in hand, like a cold-hearted orchestra to which to lead. But the little blond was upset, because something was missing in all of it, and she had no idea what it was. -maybe a cannon?
Sleepy eyes, blue look filled with tiredness. Several yawns escaped her lips, fatigue closing her eyes over and over. She did not want to leave her white and cold paradise, but her sister persuaded her with promises of hot chocolate and mushroom stew, without letting go of her hand while walking.
Pajamas of mice, sweet dreams, Papa Bach lovingly tucked her in, kissed her forehead and left little Tchaiko dreaming of cold orchestras and endless days of snow.
