Every time the first real snow begins to fall, I find myself stopping.
As if at that moment I can neither speak nor rush—only listen to the world grow soft.
Snowflakes fly so slowly, as if dancing... and each one seems to carry a small miracle.

As a child, I always believed that every snowflake was someone's dream come true.
A funny childhood fantasy, right?
But I still like to think that in every sparkle of snow there is a piece of someone's desire that has found its way.

One winter, when I was about nine years old, I went outside late one evening.
The streetlights cast golden circles in the air, and the snow fell in such a thick, fluffy stream that it seemed the world had changed.
Quiet, as if specially made for miracles.

I remember walking up to the fence in the yard and running my hand over the fresh snow. It was so soft, as if warmed from within.
And at some point, it suddenly seemed to me that if I whispered my wish into this snow, it would definitely come true.
And so I whispered.
And the most amazing thing... it actually came true later.
Completely unexpectedly.
As if someone had heard.

Since then, I've loved snow for its ability to transform ordinary moments into magic.
For the way, under its layer, houses become like something out of a fairy tale, and the streets like a scene from a wonderful film.
For the way it makes the light warmer and the night kinder.

Winter has a way of changing your mood without words.
Just watch a snowflake melt in your palm—and suddenly, a sense of calm, lightness, and a feeling that everything will be alright fills you.
That a miracle is closer than you think.

I love winter because it reminds me:
miracles don't have to be loud.
They can be quiet, like the soft snow that falls slowly, slowly...
and yet changes the whole world.