Looking out the train window this morning, I noticed how much snow melted in the last few warm days we had. Large areas of brown dirt showed through the dark snow still covering the golf course used for x-country skiing during the winter. The Russian word for such a patch of bare ground, somehow exuding spring warmth even on a winter morning like today, is прогалина (progalina).
Immediately the word made me feel nostalgic, perhaps because I do not remember ever using it since I moved to the US. Somehow ground peeking through melting snow just does not come up in the few conversations I carry on in Russian these days.
Прогалина reminds me of elementary school, of reading about nature. It reminds me of the days when I was told almost daily and truly believed that Russia was the most beautiful country on Earth. It reminds me of Tyutchev, Bunin, Prishvin, Paustovsky--writers whose works I have not read in decades. And it makes me yearn for spring more then ever.
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