Winter lace

Snow creaks under your heel.
The forest is white and there is silence all around.
The earth also dressed in white clothes.
There are bushes, trees and fields around in the snow.
Under the bright sun the snow shimmers and shines.
From the wind, a light haze curls, rustles.
Branches and withered foliage under the snow
In intricacy, lace is born.
A drawing of subtle and rare beauty,
They often see animals, then flowers,
Either a fabulous city, or a rare pattern,
Either the booths of paradise, then the uncle Chernomor.
No wonder the rumor spreads around the world:
Lace is woven in Vologda with frost.
On a frosty day, stand at the edge
Listen - bobbins are knocking in the forest! *

* bobbin sticks for weaving lace

Boris Khanin