winter [Theme] Page 44

Morning is the most disgusting time of day. I hate him. Especially in the winter. I don't know where the old Pushkin could see the rays of the sun, refreshing winter frost and singing birds. It is possible that he is already in the morning began to thump, and a glass of champagne any time of the day charming. I get up to the window. "Last night you remember? The Blizzard was angry. And now look out the window." Looked. Last night was any better. More precisely, there is no difference. The street is dark, dejected people cleaning their cars, taking their children to kindergartens and schools and rushing to work. No this morning, not happy. For me, I would started the working day in Russia about twelve. Still this morning no one thinks.

I wish you next year to freeze ass to the ice!

Search for loved ones, winter will be very cold...

I love winter. Looking out the window, and I am living with myself only....

Winter is dead, lying decently in his icy coffin. And autumn... Yes it is, - dying, whose body is slowly but surely leaving the life. Pathetic. Pathetic and creepy.

Autumn cemetery is a sight of special. Royal purple and subtle gold foliage, the Royal funeral for the fly on the background of solemn severity evergreen TUI - true cemetery mourners. Grey granite tombstones, bronze memorial inscriptions, smoky marble obelisks, black basalt monument, modest tuff memorial plates. The severity of the alleys and colors, flash chococino of passion and spilled in the air sadness. Cemeteries most of all is autumn. Isn't spring a riot of life, the seeming shame in resting places, not the sultry languor of summer, not even winter shroud - autumn, the threshold of oblivion.

With the rains come the snow, all in the holes before the April days.

Deep in the blood of sorrow, Russian, natural,
Pull me in unison with the stars above the gardens.
Through the window the sadness flew away with the smoke
Behind the window winter - the mistress and the country is inviolable.

And it's still February, the strong wind Sunday, and almost no people on the street, and cars pass very rarely.
Until spring still have to live.

In the snow storm I'm afraid to lose the belief in eternal salvation...

White muck lies under a window.
I wear a hat and wool socks.
I am always uncomfortable and drinking beer in the scrap.
How do I get rid of this boredom
For you, Sunny Days.

Winter very long, right?
- It seems long, but not eternal.

The city lies in the darkness...
The case again for the winter...

IVA the sky was empty spread you out
Fan through and through.
Maybe it's better that I didn't
Your wife.
The memory of sun weakens in the heart.
What is it? Darkness?
Maybe... the night will come in time
Winter.