North [Theme] Page 1

My city, he thought. This was my city. But now no longer. And never again.

Every wise minstrel knows that it’s not a matter of which song to sing, but how.

Clouds in the autumn sky!
The upper ones fly south,
The lower ones rush north.

- Have you seen the sea devil?
- I saw. It's just unclear. But my friend Sandy Gabbort saw it for sure.
It was Christmas Eve. And we've been out of the Clyde for seventeen days. And we had a hard time. We were walking north. And all the time a good wind was blowing. But one day... all the gear suddenly began to ring strangely, like a whole demonic chorus, so that the blood was frozen in the veins. And Sandy was standing at the stakes and we couldn't see him at the mainmast where we were fastening the sails.
And all of a sudden, Sandy screams! We all rushed to him. And he only managed to say that..."there, at the bowsprit, a sea devil emerged from the water... "
Half an hour later, Sandy died. And the sea immediately calmed down.
- And what was it like?
- What was it like? God forbid we all know this.

Watched knapweed, and plantain,
like butterflies ran from the glade the rain,
top kissed the Daisy red
and was fiddling with her starched ruff.
The clouds lazily crawled to the North,
shaking soaking wet blonde clover
panting hard, the foliage thick,
and the day of departure knew a flock of birds.
The bee was buzzing - a fleeting summer
and shadow lace was made of light,
pigeons flocked, we asked for bread...
and in the pools of your double touched the sky.

- I was born in a cold distant edge of the...
- North?
Yes. Where short summer and a long winter. My homeland - the forest of Joyce. Beautiful, silvery, sparkling world!

In the North, the death can be terrible and come without warning.

The compass needle that points North, not the answer about which direction to choose.

- We are in the boat. Sail North up the river.
- Boat? Where did you get it?
We met the loony Santa Claus, a man from the past, during the Second world war.
- What do you have for a boat?
Actually, it's more a plane than a boat. Neither here nor in General. In short, samoloty.

No one can convince me that optimism or confidence warm.
No one can convince me that optimism or confidence is warm enough.

In these areas of technology are subject to luck.
(In these parts luck is still more important than technology).
In this place, the technology still bends the knee to luck.

Shut the door, Holy smoke! We're at the North pole!

Growing ice, life freezes to the bottom.
In the head - a mess - of fire country
volcanic emissions, burning phosphorus longing.
Winter, winter, which will weaken your grip?

With the North wind to share an ice bed -
strange game, but if you mean the goal is
ties to adjust to the impending cold,
to lifeless to eternity - the choice is not so bad.
Throat glass itiva frosty breath,
remember that when something will become worse.