The Russian winter has always attracted attention of the writers, artists and filmmakers. There is something mysterious in it. The winter comes unexpectedly, putting the end to the dampness of the autumn gray haze. The merry frost replaces the dull all-boring slush. The snow covers the towns and the countryside and at this moment you realize how long the soul has been waiting for these changes. Not long after that the merry frost will turn into a fierce cold, the breeze to the icy gusts of wind, the soft snow to the impassable snowdrifts. All God’s creatures become still, chained with cold. Only the dry grass and the bare branches of the trees make the silent picture look alive.