The Icicle Symphony

I stood by the drafty double-paned windows of our Moscow apartment and looked outside. Old apartment buildings blocked most of the gray winter sky, and the ground below was brown with dirty snow. I noticed a woman crossing the street, her face covered with a thick scarf. She looked cold and miserable.

The morning was perfect for reading. I drew the curtains, turned on the light, and curled up in my bed with a book. 

The phone rang.

After a minute, I heard my mom say, “Sure! Marina would love that. See you soon.”     

Who was that? I wondered. And what was I supposed to love?

Mama walked into my room and opened the curtains wide again. “Time to get up, Marina. Uncle Gena is taking you to Sparrow Hills.”

Going outside on this cold winter morning? No way.

I pulled a blanket closer around me. “But it’s freezing out.”

“You’ll have fun,” Mama said.

I shook my head. “Not in this weather.” During the summer, I loved going to Sparrow Hills, eating strawberry ice cream from a paper cup and walking through the park by Moscow State University. But going there on this cold winter morning?

“Get ready,” Mama said. “Uncle Gena will be here soon.”          

I slowly pulled on a blue sweater and changed into tights and thick wool pants.

Too soon, the doorbell rang. When Mama opened the door, Uncle Gena put his backpack down and hugged me. Dressed in faded jeans, a sweater knitted by my grandmother, and a black down jacket, Uncle Gena stood straight and tall. Even in the depths of the long winter, he was tan from skiing and mountain climbing. He turned to Mama and hugged her, too. “Do you have a travel mug?”

“Sure,” said Mama. “Would you like tea or coffee in it?”

“Just an empty one.” He put the travel mug in his backpack and smiled at me. “Ready, Marina?”

“I guess.” I buttoned my coat up to my nose and pulled on a warm furry hat.

We descended two flights of stairs to the narrow sidewalk, where snow was piled high. I hunched my shoulders and scowled at the cold. 

We crossed the street and walked down the steep steps of the metro station to catch the train to Sparrow Hills. Marble walls and columns, a shiny floor, and a colorful mosaic on the ceiling made the station look like a czar’s palace. It was warmer in the station. My body started to relax.

I peered into the blackness of the tunnel. Two bright lights were approaching. The train blew its horn as it rushed into the station, an oil smell filling the air. When the doors opened, we climbed aboard and sat on a cushiony brown bench.

Before long, we pulled into the glass-walled station at Sparrow Hills. “Can we just ride around on the train?” I said. The daylight made me squint.

Uncle Gena gently pulled me up. “You’d miss all the fun.”

Outside, the frosty air made my cheeks tingle. The wind whistled and whined.

“I don’t know how long I can stay out here,” I said as we started to walk uphill.

“Shhh. Look.”                 

A patch of snowy trees sparkled with ice-covered branches. They swayed in the wind.

Uncle Gena pointed to the sidewalk dappled with rainbows. “These colors are a reflection of the iced branches, white light broken down into the rainbow’s seven colors.” He pulled me closer to the trees. “Listen.”

First, I heard only the wind. Then came a faint jingling and chiming.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The icicle symphony,” Uncle Gena said. “Snow fell on the branches. It melted, then froze again. Now, the icy branches chime as they sway in the wind.”

I pulled my hat up to free my ears. The branches sounded like hundreds of tiny bells ringing, jingling, and chiming. I stood mesmerized, staring straight up at the branches.

Uncle Gena took the travel mug from his backpack, then walked deeper into the stand of trees and filled the mug with fresh, sparkling snow. “We’ll make tea at home. The snow gathered here makes delicious tea.”

We came to the granite guardrail above the glistening Moskva River. From the height of Sparrow Hills, Moscow looked like a fairy-tale city. Golden domes of old churches and snow-covered trees made the concrete buildings appear brighter. Then the sun broke through the clouds.

“The sun is shining!” I said.

Uncle Gena smiled. “The sun is always shining. You just need to climb high enough to see it.”

“And you have to go outside in the winter to hear the icicle symphony,” I said as we walked down the hill.