The beginning of winter in the village. The first flakes of snow slowly fall to the ground, covering it with a soft, barely noticeable white blanket. A light frost stings your nose, and the air feels fresh and clean,as if it has just been renewed. The trees stand in silence, their branches lightly dusted with snow like fine artist's brushes. The ground has not yet had time to get stronger in the winter slumber, and under my feet I can hear the soft crunch of fallen leaves mixed with the first snow. The village houses are shrouded in smoke from chimneys, and the smell of wood-burning fires wafts in the air. Everything around is saturated with calm and anticipation of a real winter, when the frosts will become stronger and the snow will become thicker.
