\u23f1 ~4 min reading<\/p>\n\n\n
In March, when the snow was still lying in patches, but the black earth was already peeking through, Marinka and her father walked through the park to their grandmother. Marinka was carrying a wicker basket of homemade cookies \u2014 her mother had baked them especially for her grandmother, with cinnamon.<\/p>\n\n
The air smelled of melting snow. It was a special smell\u2014as if snow, damp bark, and a bit of spring wind had been mixed in one glass. Somewhere above\u2014in the blue sky\u2014the first cranes were calling.<\/p>\n\n
\u2014 Dad, can you hear me?<\/p>\n\n
"I hear you, daughter. They're going home.".<\/p>\n\n
Marinka raised her head. The cranes flew in a thin, distant wedge. She watched until they disappeared behind the trees.<\/p>\n\n
They walked on. The path was sloshing, sometimes with melted snow, sometimes with ice underfoot. Dad held Marinka by her boiled mitten.<\/p>\n\n
\u2014 Dad, look!<\/p>\n\n
Under an old beech tree, at the very edge of the island of land\u2014where the snow melted first\u2014stood a snowdrop. Real. White. Small. With two narrow leaves, like sharp sabers, and a thin stem, on which hung a flower\u2014like a drop of milk. Inside\u2014green droplets on the petals.<\/p>\n\n
Marinka bent so low that her hair caught in the snow.<\/p>\n\n
"Dad, does it smell?"<\/p>\n\n
Dad bent down too.<\/p>\n\n
"It almost doesn't smell. Just a little bit, like coolness and freshness. Smell it yourself.".<\/p>\n\n
Marinka sniffed. The smell was barely perceptible\u2014like breath. She stared at the flower for a long time.<\/p>\n\n
"Dad. Can I pick it? I'll give it to Mom.".<\/p>\n\n
Dad squatted down \u2014 to be at Marinka's level.<\/p>\n\n
"Do you know, daughter, how long it stood here until it grew up? The snowdrop waits under the snow all winter. It sits in the ground, sleeps - and in the spring, as soon as the snow melts, it comes out. The first. The bravest of all the flowers.".<\/p>\n\n
"Bolder? Why?"<\/p>\n\n
"Because there are still frosts. At night. And he's already climbed out - and he's not afraid. Look how brave he is.".<\/p>\n\n
Marinka looked at the snowdrop again. It was so thin that it seemed like the wind would bend it. But it was still standing.<\/p>\n\n
"If I tear it off, will mom be happy?"<\/p>\n\n
"For a day or so. It will wither by evening. Snowdrops don't like to be in a glass - they like the ground.".<\/p>\n\n
\u2014 And if you leave it?<\/p>\n\n
"It will stand for a few more days. Then it will wither on its own. But the seeds will fall into the ground. And next year there will be more than one here.".<\/p>\n\n
Marinka thought. She imagined the flower standing crumpled in a glass on the kitchen table. And then \u2014 how here, under the beech tree, next spring there would be many white droplets.<\/p>\n\n
\u2014 Dad, I have an idea. I'll take a picture of it. On your phone. And I'll show it to Mom. And the flower will stay.<\/p>\n\n
Dad smiled\u2014so broadly that the wrinkles came together near his eyes.<\/p>\n\n
\u2014 Well done, daughter.<\/p>\n\n
He took out his phone. Marinka bent down next to the snowdrop, careful not to touch it. Dad took a photo. Then another one \u2014 just a flower, a big one.<\/p>\n\n
"Now mom will see him like we do. And how he lives.".<\/p>\n\n
They moved on. Marinka looked back - the snowdrift stood behind them. Not destroyed. Whole.<\/p>\n\n
They sat at Grandma's for a long time. Grandma gave them tea with raspberry jam. Marinka showed a photo. Grandma looked at it for a long time.<\/p>\n\n
\u2014 The first one. When I was little, we used to find these. And we never tore them off.<\/p>\n\n
\u2014 Why?<\/p>\n\n
\u2014 Because my mother said: a flower that has been picked is beautiful for the day. A flower that has not been picked is beautiful for spring.<\/p>\n\n
When Marinka came home, she showed her mother the photo. Mom looked at it for a long time. She hugged her tightly.<\/p>\n\n
"This is the best gift, my daughter. It will always be on our phone. And that snowdrop will stay.".<\/p>\n\n
Marinka went to bed feeling like she had done something important. And she dreamed of many, many white droplets under a beech tree. A whole flowerbed.<\/p>\n\n
Maybe it really will be like that. Next spring.<\/p>\n\n\n
\ud83d\udca1 Beauty lives longer when it is not torn.<\/p>\n\n<\/div>\n
Marinka saw her first snowdrop. She wanted to pick one for her mother, but changed her mind, because such flowers are best where they grow.<\/p>","protected":false},"featured_media":3395,"template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"yasr_overall_rating":0,"yasr_post_is_review":"","yasr_auto_insert_disabled":"","yasr_review_type":"","rank_math_description":"","rank_math_title":"","rank_math_focus_keyword":""},"class_list":["post-2503","istoriya","type-istoriya","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"acf":[],"yasr_visitor_votes":{"stars_attributes":{"read_only":false,"span_bottom":false},"number_of_votes":0,"sum_votes":0},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/istoriya\/2503","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/istoriya"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/istoriya"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3395"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kazkaland.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2503"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}