Narrative: Snow in Sofia
The sky darkens, slowly at first, and then with growing impatience. The gathering gloom, envelopes the city. The pregnant clouds press down.
At first it is thin and weak, but soon it starts to dust the cars, the streets, the trams, the dogs. People hurry by, their shoulders hunched, hiding in their upturned collars, chins tucked into their chests. The early illuminated trams clank along on their rails, the cars swish by, the wipers shushing their screens. The flakes grow larger, stronger. The broken streets are soon covered by the cleansing white invader.
The snow continues its relentless downward drift, streets are fast disappearing, the clamour of the city is muffled by a growing cotton wool coat. Cars slither by in the fast fading tracks, while others try to follow. The street dogs, curled up in their misery, bark aimlessly.
Night deepens but there is no respite from the tumbling flakes. Fewer drivers risk their journeys now, but the white-capped taxis continue their struggle, the red and green lights winking from their snowy screens. The trams clank carefully by on invisible lines, their yellow lights an oasis in the growing white desert.
Young and old alike, longing for indoor warmth, struggle for home, the snow around their knees. Soft snow and quietness blanket the city
The sun peeps from behind the mountain and spies a dazzling white, sparkling scene. Blue skies, daisy fresh streets. Slipping and sliding Sofianites, snug in there winter coats, peer out from under hats and scarves, breath steaming in the morning cold. They gaze in wonder, can this really be their dirty city?
(Main photo: Clive Leviev-Sawyer)
