Falling...

I went out running just as the snow starting falling, a little after nine, for an hour on my southern uphill route that takes me up Logvienko, named after a famous Russian general, and by apartment buildings, cafes, a school, shops, restaurants, weaving through lots of traffic and over a set of railroad tracks out of the “downtown” hubbub to an overgrown pedestrian trail with chunks of pavement missing that follows the Chuy River where I pass and sometimes say hello to pensioners, children, people of all ages, by schools and playgrounds, open-air booths that sell fruit, gum, cigarettes, gun, candy and felt boot liners across a major avenue whose name I have not discovered yet and by a Turkish university until I reach my turnaround by which time I have had about eight uninterrupted minutes of running into an expanding vista of the Kyrgyz Alatau, the mountains that I couldn’t see today because of the steadily increasing snow that covered me from stem to stern. And now, about twelve-thirty, the snow outside my window is heavy on the tree branches and still falling.