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Autumn dreams. What is good about a regular walk?

Shkolazhizni.ru :.: Article 20.09.2019 at 21:00

Shkolazhizni.ru :.: Article

Happiness discreetly. And the happiest people are not those who looks for all the beautiful, rich, successful and who is on everyone's mind. And those whom we often do not even notice. Once, when I was still working in his coolest of the Corporation and when I had a free moment, I broke for lunch in a cafe around the corner and I on the way met a middle-aged man, rumpled form in scruffy audience and with his leg in plaster. Sometimes I met him in the shop next door, where he limped went for a quarter-liter bottle or a loaf of bread and liver sausage. But more often I saw him sitting in front of his house — an old, long in need of repair hatynke on the porch. The man sat and dreamily looked off into the distance. A very nondescript appearance, even a little hobo, life and people are obviously a bit old threadbare sweater or a dirty t-shirt, he, nevertheless, didn't make impression of the person in need of pity, but rather the opposite: it was something life-affirming, light, invisible like a happy halo. On cloudy days he sat normally, stretching out a bandaged leg, right on your doorstep thrown open the wicket, Sunny — on the curb, on the sidewalk, outside the gate. He sat so long, about something thinking, and a beatific smile, not knowing of his miserable life, treacherously spreading across his badly shaven face. At first I was felt a range of feelings from mild hostility to moderate severity of pity for the tramp. But gradually, meeting him more often on his way to the cafe, in the halo of the warm rays of the September sun and with a blissful expression calm face, I started feeling sorry for myself, rushing with all haste to swallow the Burger and chips and then run back to their galleries, and the tramp began to feel curiosity and sympathy. Late for me he was the epitome of simple human happiness, invisible and not dependent on contemporary attitudes and expectations of society... Today I went for a walk to stretch my bones and feel on my face the fading rays of summer, and went to some unknown for me direction. I love the new road somewhere leading. Go and rejoice in all the new things you see for the first time, looking at the subconscious level of the familiar associations with places where you've been, with your past, focus on your feelings, interior movements of the heart and memory. The evil wind shakes the tops of the poplars, reminding about the fact that summer is over and autumn is on the way. The sun was hot in the summer, but somehow weary, as if saying goodbye, and you feel it. I'm hitting the zigzag going up the road, and I am struck by the similarity to something from my childhood, my youth. That it is not yet clear, and I begin to gently touch his memory, letting your subconscious mind... And what comes to mind is some way from my childhood, something even remotely resembling the places where "I was the heart young." I walk along the old Soviet fence of white brick, on a foot path past the dusty, bent trees, see split, an incredibly watermelon red. A large blood red, torn watermelon, crushed someone's ruthless foot Away... the high blue sky with rare clouds, dazzling sun, a dusty track... and the broken watermelon — landscape worthy of the brush classic, say, assert, insist that the front of the mound is sure to be the sea. The lovely South sea, with cypresses and magnolias, just like a child... That nostalgic feeling so much that I simply shut my eyes, drifting in his early years. Neck run "creepy" in the throat is born depressed sob... something I'm becoming excessively sentimental -- I reach the top and, of course, not find her nor sea, neither the cypress trees. But still born in the subconscious feeling their echoes carrying me on waves of memory, causing the daydreaming... the Sun was hot, the road roar of the machine, at a roadside corn field. Endless corn field. On the other side of private houses. Views of the birch grove. Houses have flower beds, garden, swing. In the grass basking gray cat in the yard something was digging the old man, in a pine crown comes a woodpecker... My heart melts, I love the peaceful rural landscapes. There is so much from childhood. A piece of land, grass, flowers... Less asphalt, less concrete, less human indifference... the road goes through the car with a trailer full of straw. The tarpaulin on the trailer accidentally rode up, and straw Golden zavirukha flying all over the road, makes me, gets in the eyes, clogged nose. Funny and sneeze like... For turning the car stops, out of the car shirtless tanned male peasant appearance, begins to set the naughty piece of matter on the place is busy, kindly swears. Finally the tarpaulin back in place, the car chugs violently, coughing and twitching from the scene. I walk a hundred meters and decide to turn right on another unfamiliar road leading to nowhere. Narrow streets, houses, dachas, immersed in the greenery, and street names like song: Garden, Spring, Flower, Cherry, Apple... As it should be wonderful to live in any of the Spring or an Apple in the house with a balcony surrounded by Apple trees and currant bushes. My body feels heavy, legs numb, and I turn back. It seems that the sun burns even hotter, but I'm just happy last summer days fills the entire face under the hot rays, I can't complain. On tired comes to mind still life with broken watermelon, and I look forward to accelerate the step, because in the fridge waiting for me, too cold juicy watermelon as one of the last memories of a past summer... ...

This article describe tags: walk, memories, childhood, autumn