Snow in Prague by mightywease
Stand near to top of Petrin Hill and long for a bright yellow plastic sledge to launch with a whoosh and send you screaming with happiness to the bottom. The spires standing out from the snow covered roof tops look like remnants of a long buried civilisation, a city frosted by history. Dress is layered so the coats stands of cafes groan under the weight of outer, over and just-to-be sure garments. At Christmas the steam and fumes from Hot Wine stalls promise warmth for every layer but beware the burn as suddenly un-gloved fingers negotiate scorching sups and frosty air.
Walking across Charles Bridge in the dark the snowflakes, lit by street lamps, look like fireflies against the dark silhouettes of the statues. And as the air dampens and you chill-to-the-marrow the city provides its remedy. Dark Beer with scrambled eggs and onion. Bliss.
