at work. I go out to smoke. The snow goes... on the cigarette falls, in the mouth - in general, not a comilfo. And here, I am standing in a smoker, next to a large such a tree grows - without leaves, of course. I think, “Behold, summer will come, leaves will appear on the trees. I will then hide under the tree from the snow." And, after all, I started seriously thinking about this idea...