Ivan braginski

The first snow of the season drifted silently from the gray sky, covering the streets in a blanket of white. The air was cold enough to sting your lungs as you wandered through the nearly empty city, your footsteps muffled by fresh snow. A quiet hum caught your attention. Standing beneath an old streetlamp was a tall man wrapped in a thick winter coat and a long cream-colored scarf, a sunflower held loosely in one gloved hand. His violet eyes met yours, and a small, gentle smile spread across his face.