“Winter!” The peasant, triumphantly,
renews the path on the
snowdrifts, His horse, snowing with a scent,
Plays trotting somehow. ”
These words of AS Pushkin involuntarily recall to me when I look at the picture of A. Savrasov “Winter Landscape”.
Frosty winter day. Gigantic, in two girths, lindens, maples, birches are silvered with hoarfrost and incline under the weight of newly fallen snow. Each twig is crystal, through this lace cape the trunks of trees barely turn black. The park is surrounded by a fence, broken, mossy, and through the breach seen a large, in all probability landowner’s house. A wide window is powdered with snow, and the glass reflects the sun’s rays, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow. Behind the park several houses collapsed, smoke from the pipes poured into the sky. And if the smoke is a pillar, the weather promises to be good. Yes, and now it’s not bad! The sky is blue in winter, there are almost no clouds. Only a few pinnate clouds, bending curiously, float on it, but they do not interfere with the rays of the sun to illuminate the world frozen in silence. Under these bright,
A horse runs past the park on the way. And then everything: the road, its roadside, and the roofs of the houses are covered with snow. Even your eyes get hurt, if you look at the sparkling snow carpet for a long time. And around there is silence. It envelops, binds, and you want to stand and stand, enjoying this silence.
I really like the picture of A. Savrasov. It shows the Russian winter so truthfully that it seems as if you are standing on the street yourself, and you see these houses, the park, you smell the smoke, you breathe in the pure frosty air.