About the book: year / Budzhak is covered with snow. The long winter nights freeze in the cold of despondency. Tall snowdrifts coldly hold the loose whiteness of the frosty feather bed that has slipped from the sky. All the cracks of the snow-covered peasant yard reveal the flowing howl of concentrated cold, and the mischievous, piercing cold of the wind whistles everywhere. In the stakes, in the shaky joints of the fence, on the roof, in the tree trunks - the terrible frost creaks everywhere.