Cold Night - László Mednyánszky
Winters in northwestern Hungary tend to be rather gloomy, gray affairs rife with overcast skies and fog. Daytime temperatures remain close to zero, but rarely dip below, which means the air remains chilly and damp rather than cold. Snow is infrequent. When it does come, it usually melts away within a day or two, leaving behind a naked landscape scarred with tracts of mud.
Nevertheless, a taste of winter does visit here at least once every year. During these times, the daytime temperatures magically dip well below the freezing point and the nighttime air reaches virtually unthinkable double digits. Within hours the soggy earth crystallizes enough for the snow to stay, and for a few brief days the landscape is cloaked in white and silence.
At night the clouds drift across the starry sky like dark, dislodged continents while the crescent moon puncturing through the blackness spills silver across the snow-laden trees. I stand on the small bridge near my house and in the slow moving river below catch a glimpse of the moon smiling at its own reflection.
Nevertheless, a taste of winter does visit here at least once every year. During these times, the daytime temperatures magically dip well below the freezing point and the nighttime air reaches virtually unthinkable double digits. Within hours the soggy earth crystallizes enough for the snow to stay, and for a few brief days the landscape is cloaked in white and silence.
At night the clouds drift across the starry sky like dark, dislodged continents while the crescent moon puncturing through the blackness spills silver across the snow-laden trees. I stand on the small bridge near my house and in the slow moving river below catch a glimpse of the moon smiling at its own reflection.
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