A winter morning. Outside the window it's still quite dark, only street lamps illuminate the pathways and courtyards. In the multi-storey buildings, lights gradually come on in the windows. The world is waking up, preparing for the day ahead.
Among many tall buildings stands a small house, set apart from the rest. Ordinary, unremarkable, its roof covered with a blanket of snow, and from the chimney rises a thin wisp of smoke. The stove is burning. In the window you can see soft, diffused light, and a silhouette occasionally flickers past.
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 the kettle on and settles in for 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 did learn his name. I only know that he is an artist. His entire life consists of beautiful and remarkable paintings. In them are endless expanses of his vast homeland, portraits of unknown people, and our nature, which is wonderful 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 one 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 mood keenly and conveys it in his paintings.
Today it was particularly snowy, people were literally drowning in snowdrifts, and the wind was hurling snowflakes in their faces. The Man sat with his canvas, still absolutely blank. Passersby hurrying past paid him no attention and rushed about their business.
He sighed sadly. But then suddenly he felt that someone was looking intently at him. He looked up and saw a small boy gazing at the artist with curiosity.
Hello! Who are you? — asked the boy.
Hello there, little one, — replied the Man. — I'm an artist.
What does that mean? — the boy asked curiously.
I paint pictures, — explained the artist.
The boy thought for a moment. Then his expression brightened and he smiled.
Will you give me a magic snowflake! — exclaimed the boy.
What do you mean by "magic"?
It means the snowflake sparkles and grants your deepest 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 multicoloured sparkles. And then his hands suddenly began to draw of their own accord!
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 remarkable snowflake in the whole wide world! The artist was about to tell the child that the drawing was finished, but he froze, astonished by what he saw. The snowflake seemed to come alive and glowed in the little boy's hands. The boy watched it, mesmerised. Then he looked back at the artist.
Thank you! Thank you so much! Now I can go home to my mum! — chirped the boy excitedly.
As it turned out, the child was lost. He had been looking for his mother. And then the artist saw a woman running towards the boy as fast as she could. She picks up the little one in her arms, kisses and hugs him, unable to hold back tears of joy and relief.
Thank you! — the agitated stranger thanks the artist warmly. — You were sent to us by God! Your talent works miracles!
Before the artist could collect himself and say anything, the woman and child disappeared. Only a voice remained in his head: "Your talent works miracles!".
That's when the Man understood his true purpose. His divine calling.
Talent is given so that it brings benefit to the world. It helps, saves, extends a hand when you have no strength left and are about to fall into the abyss.
