On the Tom hills

On the Tom hills;
in a snowy, silent attire,
the trunks of slender trees rise,
in the captivating Siberian kingdom.

The cliff turns white,
the slopes are covered with snow,
and the clouds float across the sky to the north,
under the cold onslaught of the wind.

All around: silence,
for hundreds of dashing kilometers,
it is not disturbed by the dense taiga,
and the violent onslaught of the winds.