When I look through my old address book before leaving Iran, I am shocked: so many dead, so many people I have lost track of.
A local garden square. We go for a stroll, must mostly to people-watch.
I like that. This morning it snowed. I don't go out much. I have tofinish a script. I am in my niece's room. I ask her if she has noticed that the curtains are shut everywhere. She says: "Yes", she draws the curtain saying : "we have a very small sky".
I love snow in Teheran; one can hear the crows behind the windows. We go
out to play in the snow; it's a tradition. I can see snowmen. One is very funny, in the entrance of a clinic: the eyes, mouth and buttons are made with pills. Two Afgan workers are making a snowman. It is strange, a little too square, too symmetrical. All around, the soothing white silence, foot-tracks and an urge for a cup of tea.