Not so Black, as It Is Painted


Dear H., to tell you the truth, you got me scared with your stories of short Swedish days full of gloom, but I can tell you that the devil is not so black as he is painted. Where else would I enjoy so many night walks if not in the place where nights last, at least, nineteen hours? Back in Asia, I struggled through long sunny days full of sweat and noise. Here in Europe I am happy to wake up just in time for a sunset and the oncoming cool and misty night. The light reveals all unsavory sides of a city and clears its streets of fantasy. In the night time though, the city shows itself in its best: darkness hides all its faults, while millions of multicolored lights make it look like a cave full of rubies and diamonds. Trees cast crooked shadows on the walls of brick houses, and when the frost settles down, banisters, cars and bicycles look as if they came from the World of the Permanent Cold. Grass crunches under my steps when I walk in the park and the dark lake water, still free from ice, twists the lights of city lamps and splashes them against the quay.

With kisses,



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