A winter morning. Outside the window it's still quite dark, only street lamps illuminate the paths and courtyards. In the apartment buildings, lights slowly turn on in the windows. The world is waking up, preparing for the day ahead.
Among many high-rise buildings stands a small house, set apart from the rest. Ordinary, inconspicuous, its roof covered with a blanket of snow, and a thin wisp of smoke rising from the chimney. The stove is burning. In the window you can see soft, diffused light, and a silhouette occasionally flickers.
As it turned out, a lonely Man lives in this house. Each of his mornings begins with a familiar ritual: he lights the stove, puts on the kettle, and begins his morning tea. Today was no exception. Who is this Man? What does he do? Why does he live alone in an old small house?
Unfortunately, I never learned his name. I only know that he is an artist. His entire life consists of beautiful and amazing paintings. In them are endless expanses of his vast homeland, portraits of unknown people, and our nature, amazing in its beauty and grandeur.
Every day the Man leaves his house and goes to the Arts Boulevard. It's a small alley where various crafts, paintings, sculptures, and handmade decorations are displayed. Different people come there, and each wants to achieve something.
Our hero comes to the Arts Boulevard not to earn more money. He is interested in the world, in people. He feels emotions keenly and conveys them in his paintings.
Today was especially snowy, people were literally drowning in snowdrifts, and the wind threw snowflakes in their faces. The Man sat with his canvas, still completely blank. Passersby running past paid him no attention and hurried about their business.
He sighed sadly. But then he suddenly felt that someone was looking at him intently. He looked up and saw a little boy gazing at the artist with curiosity.
Hello! Who are you? — asked the boy.
Hello, little one, — replied the Man. — I am an artist.
What does that mean? — the boy asked.
I paint pictures, — explained the artist.
The boy thought for a moment. Then his expression brightened and he smiled.
Will you give me a magical snowflake! — exclaimed the boy.
What do you mean by "magical"?
It means the snowflake sparkles and grants your most cherished wish!
But I'm not a magician! — exclaimed the Man. — How can I give you such a snowflake?
Just close your eyes and believe. The snowflake will draw itself.
Well, I suppose it's worth a try, — agreed the artist.
He closed his eyes and saw ice crystals of extraordinary beauty—a snowflake. It shimmered with multicolored sparks. And then his hands suddenly began to draw on their own!
The movements were light, the brushes came alive in his hands. He felt an incredible surge of energy and strength.
Done. He had painted the most beautiful and amazing snowflake in the whole wide world! The artist was about to tell the child that the drawing was ready, but froze, amazed by what he saw. The snowflake seemed to come alive and glowed in the little boy's hands. The boy watched it, mesmerized. Then he looked at the artist.
Thank you! Thank you so much! Now I can go home to my mom! — chirped the boy excitedly.
As it turned out, the child was lost. He was looking for his mother. And then the artist saw a woman running toward the boy with all her might. She picks up the child in her arms, kisses and hugs him, unable to hold back tears of joy and relief.
Thank you! — the excited stranger thanks the artist warmly. — You were sent to us by God! Your talent works miracles!
Before the artist could recover and say anything, the woman and child disappeared. Only a voice remained in his head: "Your talent works miracles!".
Then the Man understood his true purpose. The divine calling.
Talent is given to bring benefit to the world. It helps, saves, extends a hand when there is no strength left and you're about to fall into an abyss.
