Just a couple of days before it got warmer. I walked along the boulevard and finally began to comprehend the delights of late autumn: here it still smells of soil and rotten leaves, there two young maples stubbornly hold on and do not throw off their golden leaves, and fairy tales begin to take shape in my head ... And now it’s not it was a dark dank autumn, it was a warm, enveloping, enveloping and inspiring darkness, full of stories and mysterious lights. And out of all this, creativity was asked to come out. And then the snow fell and ruined everything.

It became too light and cold. Uncomfortable. Chilly. It's chilly. Gray skies and cold winds. Some kind of sluggish current virus fell on me. Walking was no longer a joy, and the tale was no longer in a hurry to be told further. It would seem, could it really be that winter could not wait another couple of weeks? Is it really that difficult? Where is she so early? After all, and so it will host until April ... In general, I was annoyed and dissatisfied. Not fair. Not fair. Why was I pulled out of my magical world like this, in one fell swoop? ..

A month has passed. The flu also caught the virus, and far from one walk was left without attention. But for three days now, the feeling is completely different. Now it's time. Soft fluffy snow. High clean snowdrifts. I just barely resisted not to fall into them and not leave behind numerous butterflies. Snow that settled on the branches of trees and added to them festivity. And now all this soft snow sets the tone for reflections - make a mug of hot cocoa, wrap yourself in a blanket, write something like that in your diary. And to finally get a book with now winter tales that was donated a year ago.

Magical, m?