ZHU XIAO DI, 

How Could I Tell Rose the Beauty of Snow

What color is it,

asked the rose in my backyard.

It’s white, pure white,

I responded.

Only white, no other colors at all?

she asked.

Isn’t that too plain and boring,

my rose shook her head in the east wind.

Well, I said, snow white creates its own beauty.

Nothing else is needed, otherwise that would destroy its purity.

My rose thought for a while and then asked,

Can you wear it, carry it, or decorate anything with it?

Well, I thought for a moment and acknowledged:

No, I can’t, but I can make a snowman next to my house, as tall as myself.

Does snow grow from the earth like me and blossom in spring?

No, it comes down from the sky in the coldest winter hours.

Like rain in spring? asked my rose.

More or less. White flakes swirl and fall silently on the ground 

over the top of everything, no matter how tall it is.

Can I meet him someday when I’m still here or on my next visit?

“I’m afraid you may not, my dear rose,” I replied sadly.

Somehow, as I was saying that to her, I dared not look her in the eye. 

Zhu Xiao Di, author of Thirty Years in a Red House: A Memoir of Childhood and Youth in Communist China (memoir), Tales of Judge Dee (novel), Leisure Thoughts on Idle Books (essays in Chinese), and poems published in journals based in the U.S., Singapore, U.K., and Canada. 

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