white fabric on the table

Winter outside the city, late afternoon. It's empty and gray outside. Leaves and colors are gone. Strong gusts of wind in the background. A table with a white sheet on it. No one is in a hurry. Everything has fallen asleep. Time flows slowly. The world is dreaming a winter dream. I am preparing dinner in no hurry. Two potatoes and a beetroot. Roots, silage, no greens. The egg, because something is being born. The whiteness of the tablecloth brightens the gray outside the window. It is cleaner and brighter for a second. The room will be filled with the smell of food in a moment. It's as if spring has sprung here for a little while.