All night it was snowing, and by the morning it had warmed, so the trees stand white, fluffy - like in a fairy tale. Maples, poplars, acacias are like frozen lace, bound by an old woman in the winter for a night.
Cryptography of bird tracks in clear snow. To whom are these messages addressed? Puffed, birds are sitting on the branches - they are not up to the charms of the winter landscape. Night snow snugly wrapped the earth, but the sparrows and crows now do not get to the food. Scratching their paws sadly, they sadly watch me from above. Only crumbs of bread, poured into the trough, cause a noticeable revival.
In the street it's quiet, like snowfall falling asleep all the sounds. Lonely passers-by go slowly, ridiculously raising their feet - snow to the knee. The gate was slammed. This Nikolai Petrovich went out to clear the paths. He is so measured with a shovel, as if he has an inside clockwork.
I really like living in the private sector. It's almost always quiet and peaceful - not that in high-rise buildings. The main street with a continuous traffic of cars is not very far, but noise is not audible. On our street the loudest and loudest children. Soon the children's band will gather in colorful jackets, boots, fur hats and with a squeal, ride on a drenched hill, sculpt snowmen, play snowballs and just play each other in the snow.
