Description
I barely remember small fragments of those frosty winter days, with the snow as you can only see today. It was my first vacation as a schoolboy, back home in my childhood village with my grandparents. I was just a child who was just beginning life with shy steps, not knowing that soon the great storm of change will spread over the whole country. An old radio placed on one of the walls of our old room, where we sat by the stove, told us about the street fights from all over the country. All I remember is a big snowman I made in the yard with charcoal eyes, a morocov nose and the old store in the village of the cooperative. An old house with a high ground floor and old wooden counters dulled by time and dusty, which for me seemed like a paradise from another world. It was the first year when I saw and ate oranges and chocolate, which I kept on our old dresser, and for me they were worth their weight in gold. Those smells remained imprinted in my memory, being transposed now in an olfactory journey like no other.
