Magic Morning (Kouznetsov)

by Dmitrii Kouznetsov

I remember the wonderful morning at the riverside where we camped with my sons. At the end of the spring vacations, we had only one day to paddle some ten miles upflow the river until the railroad in order get home in time. The evening was cold. We warmed the ground with huge bonfire, then moved the fire and the set-up our tent at the hot spot. It kept warm until the morning. At the first light of the daybreak, I got out shaking of a horrible cosmic cold. The marvel frosty world was around. Our tent, our boat, trees, bushes, the grass were made of a sugar powder. The river was covered with a pure white cotton. The fireplace was the only black object. I pushed the logs together and the yellow fire appeared showing that all the frozen night it was waiting for this moment. I cracked the iced rise into the can, set it up the fire and cried to children, but they did not answer. I downed into the dense cotton to get water. I entered the warm milk until my neck, but it was not warm enough; so, I quickly returned to the hot fire. The bushes and the grass around the fire were turning from sugar to silver and brilliants. The rays of the sun reached our camp, lighting the rainbow on the magic bushes. Children ignored my invitations to see the marvel play of ice, water and sunshine, they appeared only after to hear that our breakfast is ready. The leaves were already drying by the rising sun, the magic frosty morning was turning into a normal warm day.