These days might be the coldest ones of this winter, after the snow. She left the art opening at the Korean Cultural Center, walking very carefully along the narrow roads of Georgetown. Rows of small houses crowded together side by side. An orange vintage filter was applied to some of them, in street lights. Everything wore a blanket of snow, just like in the illustrated children’s book. The pictures in the book now were in front of her eyes. In the front yard of a small anonymous house, the Christmas decorations were still hanging in on the tree branches, swaying slightly with the wind. She took her cell phone out, trying to capture this attractive view, but could not find the same cozy and fairytale-like feeling in the cell phone screen. So quiet, no car, no people was passing by at this moment. But she knew, once she would turn around the corner, walked into the busy M street, all the otherworldly quietness would disappear. Even a Friday like this, M street must not lack foot traffic. String of stores, window displays, restaurants, everything you could buy or consume with money. Her home was right across the river from Georgetown. She would be at home after the bridge. The river underneath was frozen. This reminded of her childhood with her mom. Sometimes they got off a bus and had to cross a river to catch another bus. The river was frozen hard in winter. They would joke about throwing oneself over the bridge then would do no harm because one would find himself roll over and stand up again. Rewinding time and revisiting places happened several times in her mind every day, like this. She did not dwell on the feelings of homesick, did not really quantify things, then mourn the loss. She felt her experience of growing up was pretty much driven by a magic power of wind, she was carried to places by wind, and her life shaped by wind.