the wind [Theme] Page 5

And here comes the gray night.

In the world of my childhood dreams there is a meadow. There, the wind plays with tree branches, scattering glare of light over the surface of the pond. And the tree is tall, large and lonely, casting a wide shadow on the grass. And in this cradle, where everything that is dear to my heart is stored, I cherish the memory of you. When I freeze in the quagmire of reality, far from your loving eyes, I will return to my world, close my eyes - and the best consolation for me will be that I know you.

And the face of the moon will tremble with horror.

The wise north wind alone could not find peace. He whistled and told me about the cities that were waiting for me, about the friends that had yet to be found, about the clashes that had to be fought and won by someone else and another time.

Warm up, admire, rejoice. Everything is inside us, and nature gives such an invaluable respite to notice and remember it.

Lord Boremund was a stone - hard, strong and unshakable. And Lord Borros is the wind that howls and growls and blows here and there.

Years passed, summer and winter changed each other. There were hot days and warm days, and days when the salty wind blew from the sea, flower fields in the spring, and abundant harvests, and golden autumn days, roads were built throughout the kingdom, and bridges connected the banks of the rivers. But the king, as far as his subjects could see, showed no joy. "Now it's always winter," he said to Septon Barth one evening, while drunk. Since Aemon's death, he always drank a cup or three of honey-sweetened wine at night to sleep.

What is silent cannot be expressed. All that truth, the wind roughens. The fact that knowledge is not in these letters but beyond. Those who understand only read the signs. In mindfulness, mindfulness looks. In silence more than that I have created.

Words are the wind, but the wind can fan the fire. My father and uncle fought the words with fire and steel. We will fight with words - with words, and put out the fire before it flares up.

Fate does not force us to do anything. She is like the wind for a ship - you can set a sail and let it carry you forward, or you can not do this, and spend your whole life calmly hanging around in shallow water.

try all the seasonal joys: bake fragrant ruddy apples with honey and cinnamon, make yourself chamomile tea or cook cocoa with almond crumbs. walk through the park, whipping up a hurricane of rustling leaves, wrap yourself in blankets and warm hugs, arranging a movie marathon with good autumn films. burn candles, get warm sweaters, decorate the house with love. remember all the synonyms for the word warm and taste each of them. And be sure to remember what an amazing time of the year - autumn.

Beauty is all around us, everywhere. In the unhurried dawn, shrouded in mist, in the lost autumn leaf, glued to the weeping window, in the sweet sniffing of a child in his little warm (and so painfully dear to you) bed. In grandmother's wrinkled hands, kneading sweet dough for Sunday buns, and when you warm your hands in your favorite hands, you look into the eyes of the stars and listen to the wind humming songs about autumn under your breath. And in this beauty I want to thank and thank life for everything.

The wind does not judge anyone. The wind will simply take what it can - what it needs - and do it quite instinctively.

Seeds never stay close to the parent plant. They fly where the wind blows.