319
Lessons of the summer
Summer has passed half, and became inexorably closer to autumn than to spring. Somewhere in the subcortex, small voracious termite sharpens the idea that everything is once again "lost" the road not taken, the sunrises are not met, vacations, it was not expected, and the smell of the sea only a tube of suntan lotion – I keep it open on the table, and this brings me to July.
In the evenings on the run I can hear from the river pulls the earth and the damp, every day – more tangible. The greenery of our yard becomes a deep dull hue – it looks like fatigue and maturity. Residents begin to Park cars away from a blooming maiden's braids apples, and someone compassionate hangs on the entrance of the announcement, written in a sweeping handwriting and responsible care of the pensioner: "the Tree disaster, collapse may at any time, walk carefully, don't put the cars!" By evening on the white margins of the leaf appear flowers, hearts, boy with girl holding hands, and the curve labeled "love" in purple marker: as a protest against all hazardous trees in the world, as a reminder of home to everyone who enters.
The Windows in the house almost always kept wide open to the warm wind can bring dust and local news: the storm is coming here, that bloomed Jasmine, here the Apple fell, but someone the second day cooks cherry jam will certainly remove the hot sweet foam and eat, washed down with cold milk.
In the Komarovka happiness is now sold at a penny. At gray, close-cropped crew cut men take young beets, and he gently puts me in her package along with luxury tops, free throwing there a bunch of parsley. Ask: "what do you think, good friedge out?" – "You are amazing".
What is rare today, what a noble lesson – to believe in someone greater than he himself.
...On the weekends going out of town to paddle down Isloch kayaking. Lie on the grass under the fat stars, listening to the water, talking about the importance – and suddenly on a nearby Parking lot begin to sound Indian mantras, and flying somewhere into the black sky, and the echoes of them probably falls in the morning dew.
You freeze, listen, feel like running away from this beauty the moment goosebumps as they slip and fall cackling somewhere down there in the heel, where went the soul as leaving the city along with the circus by giving debts and selling off some simple stuff.
I don't know the best way to reboot the head than to go to the forest, where there are no other networks except the spider. Where the phone becomes a piece of plastic, spare dry pants – salvation. Where on the shore is the oak three the girth and the bath camp, and you, soaked, clean, flushed with acceleration we jump into the icy river and see God smiling at you from the other side and winks, rolling, laughing and blowing beer foam mustache.
Or when you wash the sand plate and fat from a good risotto doesn't wash out, but you don't get annoyed and not angry, but just something humming, and small fish bite at your heels.
Or when you hold as a child, over the coals, the ears of cornto roast them and then grind into the palm of your hand and like a hamster, to eat whole grains to one, in one person.
...And then from head to toe to get dirty in the ash, a long smell of fire on their return. Closing his eyes, to see the cutting the water the nose of the boat. To meet the dawn. To dry in the hot sun of sadness. To hear the resounding singing of a bird. Lost midges. Biting Cazenac. Feel like sore muscles. Take this pain as my own.
Because in the end, no other life than the one given to you in the simple and earthly sensations: here you go barefoot on the grass; here tread on the sharp stones; now kiss favorite shoulders; here cry.
lead waiting or trying to survive from lemon tomato juice
Efficient solution to a difficult situation
Finally understanding, what all this time was discussed before.
It in your head. published
Author: Olga Primachenko
P. S. And remember, only by changing their consumption — together we change the world! ©
Source: gnezdo.by/blog/uroki-leta/
In the evenings on the run I can hear from the river pulls the earth and the damp, every day – more tangible. The greenery of our yard becomes a deep dull hue – it looks like fatigue and maturity. Residents begin to Park cars away from a blooming maiden's braids apples, and someone compassionate hangs on the entrance of the announcement, written in a sweeping handwriting and responsible care of the pensioner: "the Tree disaster, collapse may at any time, walk carefully, don't put the cars!" By evening on the white margins of the leaf appear flowers, hearts, boy with girl holding hands, and the curve labeled "love" in purple marker: as a protest against all hazardous trees in the world, as a reminder of home to everyone who enters.
The Windows in the house almost always kept wide open to the warm wind can bring dust and local news: the storm is coming here, that bloomed Jasmine, here the Apple fell, but someone the second day cooks cherry jam will certainly remove the hot sweet foam and eat, washed down with cold milk.
In the Komarovka happiness is now sold at a penny. At gray, close-cropped crew cut men take young beets, and he gently puts me in her package along with luxury tops, free throwing there a bunch of parsley. Ask: "what do you think, good friedge out?" – "You are amazing".
What is rare today, what a noble lesson – to believe in someone greater than he himself.
...On the weekends going out of town to paddle down Isloch kayaking. Lie on the grass under the fat stars, listening to the water, talking about the importance – and suddenly on a nearby Parking lot begin to sound Indian mantras, and flying somewhere into the black sky, and the echoes of them probably falls in the morning dew.
You freeze, listen, feel like running away from this beauty the moment goosebumps as they slip and fall cackling somewhere down there in the heel, where went the soul as leaving the city along with the circus by giving debts and selling off some simple stuff.
I don't know the best way to reboot the head than to go to the forest, where there are no other networks except the spider. Where the phone becomes a piece of plastic, spare dry pants – salvation. Where on the shore is the oak three the girth and the bath camp, and you, soaked, clean, flushed with acceleration we jump into the icy river and see God smiling at you from the other side and winks, rolling, laughing and blowing beer foam mustache.
Or when you wash the sand plate and fat from a good risotto doesn't wash out, but you don't get annoyed and not angry, but just something humming, and small fish bite at your heels.
Or when you hold as a child, over the coals, the ears of cornto roast them and then grind into the palm of your hand and like a hamster, to eat whole grains to one, in one person.
...And then from head to toe to get dirty in the ash, a long smell of fire on their return. Closing his eyes, to see the cutting the water the nose of the boat. To meet the dawn. To dry in the hot sun of sadness. To hear the resounding singing of a bird. Lost midges. Biting Cazenac. Feel like sore muscles. Take this pain as my own.
Because in the end, no other life than the one given to you in the simple and earthly sensations: here you go barefoot on the grass; here tread on the sharp stones; now kiss favorite shoulders; here cry.
lead waiting or trying to survive from lemon tomato juice
Efficient solution to a difficult situation
Finally understanding, what all this time was discussed before.
It in your head. published
Author: Olga Primachenko
P. S. And remember, only by changing their consumption — together we change the world! ©
Source: gnezdo.by/blog/uroki-leta/
