Looking at the sparkling radiance of a clear and frosty January day, it can be hard to believe that this radiant and seemingly absolutely unshakable calmness can be disturbed in a matter of minutes by the unexpected whim of the winter element. Just a few minutes ago the boundless blinding white fields and frosted frost, hushed under the bright winter sun, the groves seemed a bright still picture, painted against the background of fresh sky azure, covered with light pearlescent haze, and suddenly the edge of the sky begins to quickly darken, the play of light and shadow turns the landscape into a semblance of an old black and white photograph, and then pours it with the gloomy lead of an impending storm. On the white carpets of the fields, her Majesty the winter snowstorm is approaching with an impetuous tread.
The snow-covered trees of the nearest groves seemed frozen in anticipation; in this fleeting moment nature is beautiful with a special trembling beauty, emphasized by the alarming silence and stillness of the landscape.
It is difficult to accurately determine the moment when anxious anticipation passes into the growing excitement of the winter nature: branches of trees begin to tremble nervously under the first sharp gusts of the prickly wind, with every second their vibrations increase, a dense and rapid drifting over the snow carpet. Looking up to the sky, we notice that from the serene boundless azure there was no trace, instead of it a low belly of a gray gray cloud hung like a feather feather covering the darkened winter fields.
The avant-garde of the approaching blizzard-a low snow drift-gives way to the main forces of the raging elements: above the horizon a dense wall of an approaching snow blizzard rises. The first barely audible howls of snowstorms break the silence in the air, the gusts of the wind intensify, and now the round of large snow flakes envelops the entire surrounding landscape, turning it into an impenetrable moving mass. There are no more groves and fields, there is no sky and earth, only the whirlwind's cycle was left, absorbing the usual colors and sounds. Now around only the chaos of white whirlwinds, and the only audible sounds are the whistling and howling of the wind singing its sad song to the unlucky traveler who did not manage to hide from the blizzard under the cozy shelter of human habitation.
In the midst of a winter snowstorm, it often seems that it will last forever, that apart from it nothing is left around, that time has lost its meaning, the day is gone forever, and in the world there is nothing but snow dances, tirelessly dancing its complex dance for the lulling song of the blizzard . And suddenly this song suddenly abates, leaving only a wadded silence in the air and a quickly thinning mass of snowflakes, tired of their own dexterity. In a few minutes only low snowdrifts of bizarre shapes and heavy trees from the snow will remind you of a snowstorm that has passed over the earth, and the winter nature will again heal with its leisurely, measured life. Blizzard left, leaving the endless white fields alone with the silent snow-covered groves.
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