Author of quotes: Mikhail Borisovich Bar

depression...
ten mushinyh corpses
twenty-severed wings

Today in the evening
About the essence of things thought...
About sales, of course, their essence.

Cactus bloomed...
Try it and you smile,
Favorite...

In the city the first snow of the feminine. Because he is the bride. White, innocent and restless. She is still to come - drunk guests, the groomsmen, mother-in-law in the grass, family scenes and youth, he, the rascal, casually crushed. Until all the flying, dancing and spinning. Machine blink often eyelashes janitors, short-sighted shining lights, wrapped in a thick scarf a person at a tram stop going around in circles not able to unravel their own footprints, and some kind of thin girl with sparkling flowing hair flies and flies in the cloud of diamond dust where it has been waiting for.

Winter left. Abandoned in the forest of darkened snow and thin ice and went light, only taking with them an icy wind and some of the most loyal the most of the snow clouds. Glades was discovered half-melted utter confusion of mouse moves. Here's a narrow course, someone had run from someone, and here is wide because some of the guests at the in-laws so full of gratuitous nuts and get drunk acorn tincture that I had to haul it home to the wife and kids for a tail. On rotten, covered with emerald moss the stump is not budging survived all the frosts and blizzards, turned into a gray mummy mushroom puffball with a black hole in the cap. From beneath is strewn with tawny-dry pine needles, scales torn lestai and woodpeckers cones, with fragments of dry twigs and black leaves semi-sheer fine snow barely peeking cautiously opened the snowdrop.

Winter forest - echoing like gunshots, the cawing of crows, the snow from the tree branches that fell over the collar, traces, which can not see the bottom, the steam from the wet gloves and the parallel and then intersecting curves ski tracks; spring forest - the smell of black, still frozen, the earth, the current in all directions, choking of the melt water, stream, thin white stripe blue from the cold skin between sweater and jeans, and her large pimples, which only lips and can melt; summer forest - hot Golden drops of resin on a copper bark, hair, and tomato-smelling smoke, white, daisies, dress, soiled, dry red wine and tickling the pine needle that did not get it, if not to undo two thousand small, like ladybugs, buttons, rapidly sprawling under the fingers on the back and chest

Few people know that immediately after the autumn equinox coziness under the blanket, if it is described as the difference between the temperature under the blanket and outside of it, divided by acclivity begins to grow exponentially and exceed the comfort out of the blanket. By February it reaches such values, that work for extricating adult and especially a child from under the blankets, to Express it in joules per square centimeter bare or even covered Baikova pajamas body is equal... in Short, many do not get out from under the blanket until April. Unless, of course, from time to time to bring them in bed with new books, hot tea, and allow to shake the crumbs from the cookie sheets on the floor.

Summer goes out every evening. Sit on the porch, spread out on baking sheet with a sheet of tracing paper peppermint leaves to dry, looking like between the window frames floundering on the back of a Golden brantovka like hanging around the yard with a fine warm rain lurking around the corner of his kennel the dog thinks that now catch the Sparrow that pecks barley porridge from her bowl, as coming from the garden wife thinks I'll get one and kick the crap out of the dog that dug up half the garden with the strawberries, as they both do not work, as the first number has long been twenty-seven, summer, strewn white petals of mock orange, goes out every evening.

In a city apartment Uyut is not easy to create - one for that puts in all the rooms porcelain figurines of pioneers, dancers, and writers, bought at a flea market; the other in artistic disorder scatters intelligent books on the Desk, and even in each insert five tabs; the third in front of the oven in which rumanetsa a dozen chicken legs from the supermarket, puts the armchair, lights his pipe and makes a man lie at his feet on the synthetic rug room dog the size of a cat; the fourth... However, all of this city. In the village, to create a cosiness, enough to flood the stove or in the early spring to grow on the window sill cucumbers, covered with fine milk bristles.

In the ravines still March, and on hills it's April. Frustrate dry and empty grey stem, blows him, and out of the hole will leave the remnants of the cold winter air. Squeeze his ear to warm from the sun the birch and listening to seething and bubbling in the depths of the trunk of the sweet juice as it is starting to turn green, even colorless after a long winter of chlorophyll molecules, inside the billions of cells frantically scurrying around trillions of mitochondria, nuclei and some completely invisible even to the strongest microscope, bubbles, and specks without any name, how cells divide, divide, divide day and night tirelessly in order to hatch resinous buds which will swell until until they burst with a Bang and will not splash in all directions a newborn leaves.

Words spring and summer especially, the lightest of all the words in the world. Lighter than air and even helium that inflated the balloons. And the same colored. They consist almost of nothing but vowels and consonants in them if there is, then ringing. Words spring and summer especially, often do not even pronounce and exhale. Only managed lip to lift it, as it already flew off. Only the tail of the "l" and flashed before my eyes. To the spring, and especially summer words enough to talk at least two people, and especially for the whispers, they must exhale continuously.

Early spring is difficult to distinguish from late autumn - forest such as black in a field of grass withered, dry, in puddles of icy water, in the sky, empty and still, but clouds, crows and magpies, no one. Cucumbers, like in autumn, salted, and store water, chemical fertilizers and soft grades of plastics, and they were not grown in the beds, and in a huge glass reactors. Brandy, which last fall left... Even the cough is still winter, but it is necessary to blow warm and humid wind, as the mood begins to rise higher, higher and higher, and, rising, poured up there, with all the colors of the rainbow. I want to sing, to splash through the puddles and shout your mood: fly even higher and higher... and it flies and disappears somewhere behind the clouds, and you remain here on earth, with soggy feet, a runny nose, awakened flies, allergic to some pollen, mortgage, half-eaten pickle and an empty bottle of brandy.

By mid-February, winter stops and freezes in place. The sky becomes grey, low and heavy so that the atmospheric pressure is converted into blood, strong wind, counter, choppy and so cold that it whine even teeth-metal, wet snow, firmly adhering to the ski and the track is so long that if it is wound into one big ball, then it can't slide out even with the help of ski poles. Long this trail is only an endless sleep, inside of which she tirelessly goes on, and endless Feb frozen inside the winter that will never end.

If you do not turn around at the sound of vehicles traveling on the highway, the whistle of trains, the drunken shouts of the men at the bus stop, to the heart-rending screams of the TV, on a small salary, on an unfinished repair on the absence of the wife's mink coat, at the presence of her boss ' wife, only to go through the snowy field on skis, look at the darkening forest in front, on the snow baranchiki, escaping from under the sharp edges of skis, listening to the whistling wind, dry tapping ski poles, piercing the crust, time to go around sticking out from under the snow dry stalks of last year's thistles, then after about fifteen minutes, at least twenty-five, life begins to improve. The main thing - not to reduce the pace.