Flora s snowflake

Little Flora was sitting at her desk and drawing. The holidays already came, and the days were short and cold. By Flora’s opinion, drawing was the best thing you could do that time. And, to be honest, drawing was Flora’s favorite business.
 
She loved to sit and peer into the dark outside the window, warming her tired fingers under the light of a desk lamp, trying to see in that darkness something that only she could see, and then back again to its lines and spots.

Flora's drawings were far from technical perfection, but each color stain seemed to say: “I have always been here, and if you look at me for a long time, I will become live part of your world.” But today Flora wanted something special to do. She did not know exactly what she wanted: she never felt anything like that before.
 
It was an exciting, mixed feeling, hovering on the edge between mystery, enthusiasm, confusion and revelation. And this feeling, in the motley gamut of its striking contradictions, gave incomparable pleasure.

In obedience to an internal impulse, Flora took a clean sheet, pencils and several paints and began to apply strokes and lines with quick confident movements. She almost did not see what was happening, did not realize exactly where she was.

Suddenly, the lines and the spots disappeared, more precisely, they formed into a single image, and Flora realized that the work was over. She didn’t know how much time had passed: it was still dark outside the window; only the sky had acquired some barely perceptible, but a completely new shade, and the wind became quiet and soft.

Flora looked at the picture again, then, as if seeing off someone, she looked with tenderness out the window. The snowflake girl, with a wink, waved to Flora with a tiny hand, slightly pushed off the sill with graceful legs and flew up, subtly tinkling with silver skirts.

Flora winked and waved at the girl and, sneaking a glance at the white sheet of paper on the table, turned off the light, and, smiling, left the room. Soft white light poured from the window. The first snow fell.