Good evening, dear storyteller—
you who carry in your words a secret breath of spring…
Come, don’t sit afar. Today is no ordinary day.
Today, winter itself repented.
At the edge of the horizon, where gray melts into mother-of-pearl,
appeared the Snowbird—
not as a storm that threatens,
but as a messenger bearing a truce.
His feathers were not carved from biting ice,
but woven from filtered light,
as if the sky had spun him a robe from memories of gentle days.
He took flight from the peaks of Sarajevo 🇧🇦,
where the mountain wears its white cloak with quiet humility this year.
The air was cool, yes—but it did not bite.
Between -1°C and 5°C, he whispered to the pines:
“Fear not—I won’t burden you with cold today…
I’ll only brush against you in passing.”
He soared southward and saw Zagreb 🇭🇷 reaching toward the sun like a child seeking an embrace.
The winter sun, usually shy, smiled more boldly today.
In cafés, cups were lifted by bare hands—no gloves, no trembling.
Between 4°C and 7°C, the bird mused to himself:
“This isn’t winter…
This is a promise—a winter that understands humanity.”
In Belgrade 🇷🇸, he watched the Sava River flow freely, unchained by ice.
Temperatures—from -2°C to 6°C—drew a curve resembling a hidden smile across the city’s face.
The stone hues, the browns, the golds… reflected on his white chest
as if history itself whispered:
“Even cold can be merciful… if it chooses to be.”
In Sofia 🇧🇬, he touched the earth and found it warm beneath the snow—
as though it still held last year’s warmth like a cherished secret.
Between 0°C and 7°C, the Snowbird sang his first note:
“Winter here does not shout…
It breathes in quiet warmth.”
Then came Tirana 🇦🇱—and it glowed!
The sun, as if rehearsing all night, gave everything it had.
10°C at noon…
People filled the squares; laughter floated in the air like warm champagne bubbles.
Cafés brimmed with life; faces were uncovered—no barrier between heart and sky.
The bird hovered midair and thought:
“This is the South—
sending a message of hope wrapped in light,
long before spring arrives.”
And as dusk fell, he returned to where he began.
Perched on an old tower, he watched the cities don one by one their cloaks of night.
Every glowing window was a tiny star saying: “Thank you—today was kind.”
Winter, on this Saturday, was no enemy.
It was a gracious guest—
who knew when to pass through,
when to pause,
and when to leave the door open for something warmer.
🌙 And now, as you read this…
the Snowbird folds his wings,
but his story remains—
the tale of a day that chose to be different,
a day when the cold decided to be kind.