Today was the coldest day of the winter and the first snow. Icy wind whipped across the Golden Horn. Tiny specks of snow swooshed past my window blowing sideways, to the left. The wind changed. The snow flurries changed direction and hurled themselves to the right. Then a lull. An updraft. Suddenly the flakes began to drift upwards, toward the gray-white sky, riding some unseen current.
Tell me, do snowflakes float upwards in other places, or is it only in the mad chaos of Istanbul that the world goes topsy turvy and snow flies up instead of falling down?
I leave the house in my long black coat, hood tied tight, scarf wrapped snugly around my neck.
Fierce gusts of wind wrench umbrellas inside out. They lie discarded on the slushy ground like the skeleton remains of prehistoric flying reptiles. Ragged wings flapping in the wind.
Everyone battles the wind, heads bent against the frenzied attack of snow. The red tram gleams-- a spark of brilliant color on the bleak street.