Book: Tales for troubled women

Everything comes to those who wait and to draw in anticipation of force.

Myra started to weave carpets. No one taught her this craft, but like always he was known. She painted strands so that, no matter how much my color is not lost. This is Myra taught me important, from what I know. Said weave have heart. The heart is the same tangle, Rubiaceae, prickly, hot. Every day otmetili from him for a little bit and upleta to work. To turn his heart into his work few can, and you manage, this is your task.

Vahan had not written her any letters. Word from him would bring the Wanderers: Gypsies, merchants, circus performers, hobos and collectors of fairytales. Vahan everyone the traveler said, "Tell Myra that she is the sun. I even bask in the distance, its beams". Words like coins passed from one to another, sometimes come to misers who hid them under the ground. "Tell Myra that she will always be my Zahir, my psyche and my Sphinx." When the money ran out, Vahan tore the gilt buttons from his uniform and along with a letter to his wife gave the Wanderers. Each oasis desert women sewed new buttons ― drovers of the caravan cut them with the dead and a handful brought into the oasis. Beduini kept the ones with shiny stones. The remaining eagles, stars, vows - were sewn on the coats of guests, while those in the men's tents were paid for bed stories and news.

It's us women, well in the walls, and the man will need.

He said, only strangers are not going crazy ― told Myra to the neighbors who came to see what happened.
- Vahan started to go crazy?
- I do not think so, but her husband felt that in the settlement, his mind shallow.