being noticed

A heavy snowfall curtained the afternoon city. The tourists who had crowded the Old Town during the Christmas Market in December had left the scene, perhaps few brave ones remained, hiding in the coffeeshops drinking hot chocolate. The streets were even emptier than in the early morning before the stores open. The houses hibernated. A little schoolgirl with a schoolbag and a violin case almost as big as herself strode steadily forward, hopefully reaching home soon. I walked past an old couple supporting each other, keeping the balance on the snow covered slippery cobblestone sidewalk. The snow got thicker and heavier, and it felt as if anyone who walked in it would disappear forever. It could be that I had turned invisible already. Surprisingly the almond seller's cart stood in front of Olde Hansa restaurant, even though the snowmen might have been the only customers to expect.
"Some sweet almonds for your journey," hollered a friendly voice.
Since there was no one else around I understood that the young woman in a colorful Middle Ages  winter costume, standing behind the cart, was talking to me. She stretched a wooden ladle in my direction and smiled a summer warm smile.
I paused my arctic marching, stepped closer, and took a handful of caramelized almonds.
"Thank you," my frozen cheeks melted to return the smile.
It still snowed. The snowfall looked lighter and prettier than before.
Because of one little gesture.
Because she had noticed me.