"Do you have the cinnamon with you too?"
"Cinnamon and vanilla pods - even tinsel," the little girl replied proudly, grinning from ear to ear.
"Bring the basket here quickly," the little one heard exultant from the salon.
With that, the little girl handed the fully packed basket to the older woman, who had remained young with her rosy cheeks, the shiny gold of her hair and the mischievous grin on her cheeks.
"Thank you, dear," the woman was still smiling and took another basket from the thickly upholstered armchair. "This is for you, my little one. Do you think you can still do it?"
The little girl with the much too big hat smiled confidently. "Of course, mom, just give it to me", with that she hung the basket over her arm. The girl stroked her clothes once to drive away the cold and wetness of the snow that was up in front of the door. Her coat - white and fluffy - had been the most damaged. With its flower-shaped red buttons, the yellow buckle on the belly and the red, velvet belt around the waist, it looked like it was tailored for a Christmas elf. The white and fluffy bobble of her cap reached almost to her spine, it was so big for her. If it weren't for the unbeatable sewing skills of the elderly, who had made the hat tighter, her face would have sunk into the depths of the fluffy red wool.
"Take care of yourself," the mother called to her. Then her call was sunk in the roaring wind and the fluff dance.
The little girl smiled as she strode through the streets with the covered basket. She loved the Christmas season. She loved the hustle and bustle, painting ice cream on the thick windows, rushing and rushing from department store to department store and she loved the large, green Christmas tree that perched in the middle of the square. The sight of him always amazed her - just like now.
With its evergreen branches - as long as its legs - it was a majestic sight. The snowflakes that cavorted in between did not weaken this impression in any way. Even the top of the pine tree, which rose with a sparkling gold star, was covered with white snow powder and still radiated sublimity in painterly perfection.
"Like icing," the little one giggled and ran straight to the tree. Without fear, without fear - she would find her goal under its massive branches. "Yahiko?"
In response, there was a mowling beneath the green mountain of pine tops, snow and lots of Christmas balls covered with tiny ice crystals. The balls were so bright that the oval face of the little one broke on the surface. With her rosy cheeks, the little snub nose and the unusually large eyes and the hair of an even more unusual color. If you looked her in the eye, you seemed to lose yourself in time on the spot. Every blob of paint had slipped away too quickly to hold onto properly. Her friends always called it "the gift of the rainbow", but she knew better with her seven moon movements.She knew the real reason for her iris, knew the sacrifices her night blue hair brought with it.
"Yahiko," she whispered when the tiny kitten had finally dared to approach her. Shy and sullen, it padded straight at her, mewing angrily, as if it wanted to curse her.
"I'm sorry, little one," she patted his soft head and wrapped him in the cloth she had brought with her, which she took from the basket.
"Meow," it replied curtly, as if to signal to her: "It's okay."
"Don't be angry - I brought you something nice too," beamed the little one and handed him a conspicuous ball of wool. It was yellow. Citrus yellow. Star yellow. Golden like the sun under which her father had asked for her mother's hand. Back then ... dandelions by the thousands and thousands of their witnesses. Dozens of crickets pulling their orchestra. Your wedding guests. They didn't want more. They didn't need more. But ... one more thing they needed. It meandered like a red thread through her entire life, weaving an inseparable bond around her hands - so brilliantly bright that it had to dazzle anyone outside - and promised to always protect her - in good times and bad.
"Miau ...", with that Yahiko spoke up and nudged her hand with his nose.
She returned the gaze from the Yellow Sea and gave the kitten a fleeting smile. "I'm the reason," she sighed sadly.
Yahiko looked at her helplessly, as if he didn't quite know what to do with her.
"Kibou," she whispered, quieter than the sliding snowflakes that fell around her on the white floor. As silent as the tear on her cheek that died halfway and froze to ice on her temple. "Kibou means hope, Yahiko," she said with a sniff, but no less patiently, "I should be the hope for mom if papa would one day go and mom KNOWED it. She knew he would go one day." Kibou listened deep inside. Was that why she was angry with her mother? Maybe, but if she was honest she couldn't. Something was stopping them. Or was it someone? "Papa ..." she whined desperately and looked up at the sky.
A lonely shooting star flared up - so conspicuously as if it wanted to say: 'Yes, speak, I hear you.'
The prospect that her father had set the star figures in motion to show her his attention in this way made her smile. She hugged her runaway cat even tighter.
Yahiko loudly complained about 'this treatment', but her grip did not loosen.
"I'm back," she said when she was back in the warm, cozy house.
"Oh Kibou, you came just in time" - "In time ... where ... for ...?"
Her mother clasped her tightly in her arms, tried to take away her displeasure and anxiety with her warm arms and security. "For the 'get-together' - come inside quickly," smiled the mother and took off her daughter's boots and coat.
Kibou could smell a hint of cinnamon. Something tickled her left ear. Slowly she pulled out a paper flower and smiled at it.Her mother still had the magic trick with the 'magic flower' on. While Kibou closed the door behind her with a faint smile, she felt as if she heard it whisper softly in the snow. It felt as if she and her parents were standing for a moment under the tree in which the carved heart with the 'P + K = LOVE' could tell about her most beautiful day.