Henry Lion Oldie. Puppet master (№ 48078)

In the beam of light dancing dust motes. Their dance is simple and unpretentious. They circle, soar, to fall, to face that after a moment to scatter in different directions. Dust to dust, light to light. Their dance can be observed forever. But eternity - a figure of speech, nothing more. In the darkness of space dance of the sun. Their dance is complex and ambitious. They fly, flash to off, compressed to explode and burn through the silk lining of the universe. Darkness to darkness, light to light. Stars, elephants, stars, horses, stars, the deer, are part of the universal merry-go-round. But the carousel - a figure of speech, nothing more. Organic porridge, heavily involved in fear and passion, bubbling people. Their gurgling like the croaking of frogs in the pond. They boil, boil soft, successor, sdobrivayut oil, lay side-by-side; Ah, these little people will make a mess, for sure... a Grain to a grain, the fate to destiny. Somewhere in the total pot at the bottom is me. I'm a figure of speech. No more.