Under the Frozen Tears of God

Today, I took my bike out to ride around the block for fun, slipped twice and fell off on the street, made people laugh and it was all entertaining and enjoyable.

It feels great to bike in a foot of snow, but be careful if you're going to do it, you need to lower the seat, just enough to control your balance. You also need to have mud or studded tires to prevent slide.

Heaps of snow is going to blanket the entire East Coast of the United States tonight. It has been snowing since Tuesday morning with a slightly frigid chill that is sweeping across the Northeast. Tomorrow, a bitter cold is expected to follow after the sky satiates itself from shedding its frozen tears on to earth.

Today, I was feeling nostalgic for those snowy days in the most far-flog village in the central Afghanistan. The snow storm of today reminded me the heavy snow fall - up to 3 and sometimes 4 feet snow - in my village. I recall the winters in which sometimes the slow and steady snow lasted five days. I recall the winter that as a result of a heavy snow a barn was collapsed in the village. In one morning, when I walked out of the house, my elder brother asked me to stand at the edge of snow wall, the snow was higher than my height. I was 11 years old.

The flat and little houses of villagers were enveloped with snow and roads were completely blocked. We used to spend almost three days removing the snow from the roofs, paths, barns and backyards. Then, the fourth day, the whole community were getting together for a mass clearing of the snow from long paths leading to other communities. For almost 3 months, the communities in the entire district were going into hibernation.

In this way, life was simple and warm. It was easy to believe anything that was told us and we never knew what the fact was and what fiction was. Everything was new and fascinating to us. Old mythical stories always amused and amazed us, especially, when we listened to some of them with absolute horror. The fairies, ghosts, and deads becoming alive, were the stories that bewitched our little souls and captivated our memories with imagery fears and attractions.

It is those days’ memories that cling to me, every once in a while. It is those endless reminiscences that fascinate every moment of my life, today. It is those stories, and nostalgia that wistfully hint a river of melancholy mood in me, in the dismal winter of Pennsylvania.