The snow falls like confetti in Prague. Large flakes drift down slowly, spiraling to the ground where pedestrians wait silently for the tram. On the rooftops, blackbirds and pigeons huddle on the edge of flues, warming themselves before darting away.
Gray skies or blue, snow or rain, the city is beautiful. It can’t be hurried. It demands to be taken in slowly so as not to miss a detail. Around every corner there’s a statue or a gate or a painting to admire. It’s a city for strolling, a pace that Mikayla and I enjoy together.