I touched snow for the first time at seventy-two

Dear Delyara, I moved from Ghana to Norway to live with my daughter after my husband died. I arrived during winter and watched snow through the apartment window for weeks because the cold frightened me and my knees were weak. My granddaughter kept asking me to come outside. She bought boots, found a warm coat, and practised walking with me in the hallway. Today, we went into the courtyard. Snow was falling slowly. I held out one hand, and flakes disappeared against my skin before I could study them. My granddaughter packed snow into a ball and placed it in my palm. It was colder and softer than I expected. I laughed so loudly that a neighbour looked down from a balcony. For months, moving countries had felt like arriving inside someone else’s weather, language, and daily life. Standing there, I was not only an old woman displaced by grief. I was a person meeting something new. We stayed outside for seven minutes. I brought one handful indoors in a cup, though it had become water before we reached the lift.