SelfPub: Snow, snow

Snow, snow. Today he doesn’t even fall, but simply flies headlong, as if he is afraid of being late somewhere, not having time to cover the earth with a snow-white blanket. Snow butterflies fly onto your eyelashes, onto your hair, into your soul. And suddenly it becomes so easy and calm in this white silence. And I want to spin around and fly away with this snowfall. Fly to where it is always good and calm. Snow...