Magic April Snow



Unseasonal snow falls for this season's final outing of Mozart's The Magic Flute. The audience cheerfully battle in through the slanting snowfall, and check their snowboots in at the cloakroom. I have baked a carrot cake, which we all pile into Pamina's dressing-room to eat in the interval, and afterwards there is a party in the canteen for a violinist who is retiring. I am leaving for a fortnight in London tomorrow morning. I walk home, treading the freshly-fallen snow, marvelling at a silent, white Kassel, my hair still stiff in its Marcel Wave. Have I really been living in Germany for 6 months already?

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