the air [Theme] Page 3

Three days before Christmas, in the markets, in the squares, there is a forest of Christmas trees. And what trees! People walk, choose. Dogs in the Christmas trees are like wolves, right ... Until the night you will walk in the Christmas trees. And the frost is getting stronger. The sky - in smoke - purple, on fire. Frost on the trees.

You put on felt boots, a sheepskin coat made of sheep, a hat, a hood - the frost does not sting. You will leave - a melodious ringing. And the stars. If you touch the gate, it will crackle. Freezing! The snow is blue, strong, squeaks thinly, thinly. On the street - snowdrifts, mountains. There are pink lamp lights in the windows. And the air ... - blue, silvered with dust, smoky, starry.

To love means not

For me, selling buzzwords is like selling air.

Selling words is like selling air.

- Which

... Fog... an adept of Silence... it envelops the consciousness with snow-white lace... a sip... the air is viscous... the aftertaste of November is on the tongue... bittersweet... already or yet... it doesn't matter now ... I want to drink it, inhale it until dizziness ... rush down the stairs with springy steps, out of habit counting everything to the last step ... just not to stumble ... how I want to quickly dive into his milky embrace ... dissolve in him...

November is knocking at the very heart, as if reminiscent of this almost black gold beauty. And anyway, if it's raining outside, you put on your boots and go for a walk. You breathe in almost frosty air. You embrace everything around with a close look. Dreaming of a cup of spiced cocoa. About fragrant apple tart. With a layer of airy meringue inside. And suddenly you want so much to go home, to comfort, to warmth, to a cloud of cinnamon. November. He makes us listen to our smallest desires. Don't miss a detail. Hug yourself and loved ones with tenderness and care. And love.

November morning is the good old jazz, the voices of your favorite performers, returning to childhood and spreading pleasant warmth over the body, this is a sip of velvety black coffee, this is the air from the open window that makes you feel chills, but when you feel it with your whole body, you smile, because you know, the most magical time of the year is about to happen, these are candles scented with sandalwood and musk, these are hands that smell of mint because they took a handful of tea leaves and threw them into the teapot, this is a couple of paragraphs from a favorite book, this is a joyful excitement of anticipation fast holidays. This is something special and inherent only in the morning of November...

... November walks have their own special charm. The breath of winter has almost touched nature, the air is fresh, humid, with a touch of moss and rotting leaves. You take your beloved dog with you and get lost among the blue-green firs. You collect the last branches of fern, hawthorn fruits, sea buckthorn and mountain ash, scattered in bright necklaces on almost bare trees. You find yourself, breathe in this mature, wise beauty and return to where you are loved and expected. ...

I love autumn, coffee and chrysanthemums. I love the autumn air, like thick honey and sticking to my fingertips. I love the rustle of fallen leaves under my feet, I love silence and autumn slowness, rain and dullness. I hear jazz notes in autumn. A little sleepy, viscous, enveloping. They smell like coffee with cinnamon and chocolate. Jazz is so well written and read, thought and slept. And it doesn’t matter to you at all what the weather is outside the window, the main thing is to always be warm in your heart ...

Because there is still air in my lungs.

and all this eternity lay down.

gave up science...