|Pull pull pull!|
|Another turn, we will be at our playing field!|
|After running, we graze frozen grass.|
|Sniff sniff sniff, I can smell something good!|
|Give me a biscuit!|
We, humans, did some throwing on a potter's wheel, but we both couldn't make anything much. The clay was too soft. In the evening we did some mega cleaning of our studio. It was overdue. We felt positive to reclaim space!
Everyone has their own memory of snow. Mike said when he was boy, he rushed out to play with a sledge, as soon as it was deep enough. When I was young girl, my favourite thing to do in the snow was to look up to the sky to see how snow flakes fell. It was mesmerising and infinite. I felt it was similar to see inside folded mirrors. Soon I realised that there was rhythm in their falls. But once a while, a bit of wind picked up; they suddenly change their dance. They added more twirls and swirls in their steps. It was in total silence, but if I tried so hard I could almost hear their footsteps, or were they their whispers? What is your memory of snow?