garden [Theme]

Spring has already begun, and all the birds, forgetting all decency, satisfy their natural needs and thus turn my garden and my forests into houses of brothel.

Let the landing force go to heaven.

After all, I have been singing for centuries.

Now he lived a happy life: he went to the theaters, went for rides in the royal garden and helped the poor a lot. And he did well: he knew from his own experience how bad it was to be penniless!

February. It's almost spring. On the threshold. Expectations. Hopes. Dreams... everything is resurrected... It’s still cold. Only snowdrops sway their white transparent bells with the tenderness of their buds. And at home there is a garden. Wild thirst for color, light. Colors. The first fresh wind... Until then. Still hot sea buckthorn tea. It has color...

And dream and turn green in the middle of spring.

My father built his own theater, as well as cinema, all his life - his own, unlike any other. For 46 years at Lenkom, he created his own Cherry Orchard and grew unprecedented trees in this garden. He raised truly great artists, and more than one generation. It seems that no one succeeded, not even the great Tovstonogov. As a passionate person, my father never ceased to be amazed at how the whole world arises from nothing - just from an idea, from a fantasy, which suddenly materializes and becomes something that can be touched, that becomes material. Although the theater, of course, is not very material.

The library is the garden of the mind, where every book is a flower of knowledge and every reader is a gardener caring for his thoughts.

There is more certainty what I aspire to, I

Kindergarten is the initial stage of flashing a monkey into a human.

Author Natalie Gorbenko, 01/21/2019

I wanted to tell him that the pool, the garden, the house, the tennis court, the paradise and the whole villa would be his ghostly place. But he pointed up to the French windows of his room. Your eyes are forever there, I wanted to say, in the folds of tulle, staring intently from my bedroom, where no one sleeps now. When the wind blows and the tulle rises, and I look at it from here or stand on the balcony, I catch myself thinking that you are there, looking out of your world into mine and saying, as on that day at the stones: I

The deep silence and great calm that guarded the garden awakened in Mertsalov's tormented soul an unbearable thirst for calm, the same silence.

- I was in Vietnam. Russian Kalash*