The house in the woods. Novels and stories
The sky, the plain, the horizon, the road, all were white and gray, day and night. And the falling snow was falling. It seemed that an enormous being, like an abyss, shattered in myriads of white, fluffy whites, covered the whole air, overwhelming under its fluffy weight, creatures and things. People came out of the houses at times, looked at each other with astonished eyes and wondered: "Is it still snowing ?!". And then they went back into the frozen houses. Life blinked hard in the whole being of the village. When night fell, a loud, hot, heavy sigh rose above the village, like smoke, like a curse. The boundless ones roared from the winds that struck the enemy in the icy tini-chaea of the air. It seemed that large windows, up to the heights of the sky, were shattering, hit by heavy unseen fists. A sharp, harsh chirp came from time to time from the tumult, as if it were the cry of the Devil, stabbed by the Archangel's red iron. And the falling snow was falling.
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