landscape [Theme] Page 2

Red-hot sky though he was getting ready to bake pies. The clouds were scattered in small flour, and only at the horizon was going in the snow dusters. The sun lay soft, spreading oil stains.

Thundering black of the train, shaking the Windows of the house; filled with mountains of smoke, the ghostly movement of the shoulders, dropping the burden, rising with a flourish, hiding the night sky salinensee; sleek metal fire burned the roof under the moonlight; and resonant the black shadow was awakened under the iron bridge, when it thundered black train, longitudinally squoze paling light. Rumbling drone, wide smoke passed, it seemed, through the house, trembling between the abyss, where gleamed conducted moon nails, rails, and the city street, which crossed a low flat bridge, waiting again another thunder cars. The house was like a Ghost, through which you can stick your hand to wiggle my fingers.

Charms night eternal wanderer
Is red sunset in the distance.
It is a dark night a messenger faithful,
He guard the moon silence.
Captures dusk black-blue,
The cold stars burn the flowers.
Minutes melt and brighter
Other galaxies beacons...

The view from the window in the tube will not break in your suitcase will not put.

Here it was impossible to feel the movement of time, everything seemed frozen in its original beauty.

Like some of Gauguin first brought to Tahiti and forced to draw with pastels, and then handed over with bright acrylic paint and taking advantage of the confusion, was persuaded to portray the landscape of the middle band, but in acid tones.

The grille does not interfere, even in a strange way brings me the scenery outside the window.

- Look, look there!
- Post.
- No, look!
- Elegant post.
- You only notice the posts.
- Yes, so they do not crash.

The scenery is peaceful or sad.
The scenery of the journey in life, and not the types of surface of the earth.
Landscapes Time, the current lazily, almost motionless, and sometimes like the tide.
Landscapes of rags, whipped nerves, nadsady.
Scenery to cover up the exit wound, steel, flash, eat, era, the noose around his neck
mobilization.
The scenery that screams to drown.
Landscapes - as the head stretched the blanket.

Graze in the meadow
beasts of the peace;
the glittering lakes
herons important strode;
bittern in the marshes;
floodplain meadow
in the vastness of the net
galloping horse trotting,
their tails curl wavy
over the wavy grass.

There are landscapes from which any mortal even for a moment, but will feel like a God.

Beyond the trees lay a colored fields, cut narrow, like strips of coloured paper. The war took place here so fast, I don't have time to burn.
- That's a laugh! surprised shouted Saakashvili accustomed to an immensely vast fields in the Soviet Union. - Step once - a potato, step other growing rye, another step and the cabbage got.

Et si tu n existais pas
J essaierais d inventer l'amour,
Comme un peintre qui voit sous ses doigts
Naitre les couleurs du jour
Et qui n'en revient pas...
If it were not for you,
I'd invented a love.
As an artist, created the landscape,
Admiring them again and again
Forgetting that it's a canvas...

Winds the dusty road
Across the plains, hills, -
Where day seized with anxiety,
Where the evening devoted to dreams...
Then zmeitsya the dark woods
In the echoing, quiet slumbering, -
Then under the stone canopy
The mountain in gloomy silence...
Then, on will breaking,
Where the vast expanse of the earth,
Running, twisting,
Grey everywhere, in the dust...