Where heart is

How cold can it get? So cold that tears are freezing in the eyes. So cold that the clothes you are wearing are actual skins of animals.even the lowest wind is a splutter of snow. The ground slips beneath your feet. Life forms hide themselves. Daily activities are laboured, business has been shocked to a standstill.
Blinding! no! deafening cold! Mesmerizing cold!
And your own fiery corner. You bake, and the oven keeps you warm.The red glow of the cinder adds an environment of mystery to the gray background. Window panes are fogged. Only the cocoon of warmth is the field of awareness, all else is background...

In the flour mill run by the little stream, you dip your hands in the freshly ground flour, it's warm! In the village in which the Rooster lives, with two pesky rodents, in a hut with thatched roof, & earthen pots inverted over the chimneys, Summer arrives.
The mist slowly dissolves. Mornings turn from silver to golden.
Gold is everywhere. There is an energy which spreads, not an excitement or a hustle,
a warmth, a smoothness,
from the glittering blue sky and the clear stream sparkling gold, to the fields which are rippling seas of golden wheat, to your heart and mind.

The golden sunshine filters through the green. Golden green and gray green, blue-green and olive. Canopy of towering trees, undergrowth upto your knees. Large sheety leaves rustling, tiny feathery leaves whispering. Bright green blades of grass, & dull green carpet of moss.
Little white mushrooms and huge red toadstools. It's the forest where the bear lives. Who kidnapped Masha. Who escaped by tricking him. It's on the edge of the village which turns from silver to gold every year.

I spent my childhood there. In thin Soviet story books. Which cost Rs 5. In 1991. Home is where heart is.