You execute me strongly … I know
why, but since some time the world around me became the stranger.
I Go, I look around and I understand nothing. Or perhaps also I understand, even a lot of things, but I do not understand why everything moves quite so?
Very much I like to wander about nature landscapes. You know, so simply, I wander... I see ahead the beautiful town and I go there. I come, I inhale a full breast. I absorb in myself all sounds which are … and again beautiful town over there, ahead … And again the grass, foliage … with
A bare feet rustles … You liked to run about in the childhood on a grass bare feet too.
This true pleasure to go, feel. The grass caresses legs. The chill takes off fatigue of close footwear. Legs … they feel Earth!
It as mother`s touch.
I you lay down. The warm sun warms and blinds eyes. You lie. And you are embraced by her!!! you Hear
, begins to whisper to you an easy breeze. The bug got confused in the grass which is trampled down by your head and begins to rustle loudly under an ear. You get up that it was released and notice that it is here not one. Around everything moves, flies, grows.
Ant hill!!! there are very unsuccessfully under your back and muravyishka, such little daredevils already begin the attack.
Here the nightingale flied and somewhere there in krone his song spread. You try to find it in foliage of a tree, but is not present. Such gromkoglasy singer of the size of a leaf of a tree, it just was gone in a tree, merged with it. And the trills only striking with the beauty, rustle of leaves from a breeze and a fly who by all means should fly in an ear.
And again beautiful town, over there, ahead. It already attracts? - Of course, again attracts you to itself.
You think this picture, this glade that she lives here. Ants, bugs, flies … and you there somewhere. That here days off, you got out here to fishing, to eat a shish kebab, to drive a ball, to celebrate a birthday, an office party (too the reason) … that here you approached this place, and it embraced you, you almost became its part (if you heard and felt it). Well! As if not so. You were always its part. You child of Earth. You are created from its small parts - atoms. And the most important, you are impregnated with all that life which creeps, flies around you, and even under your legs, there, in the earth, forces the way through, swearing that under your heel the earth became more dense and firmer, the ordinary earthworm climbs. Look at
on the hands. What did you see?
- Hands, - you will answer.
A, how many the smallest sections how many the smallest organisms make your hands. They are different. Someone in skin, someone in muscles, someone in bones. And all live, move, grow and die.
A the worm who was already in time to get through under a heel, surprisingly, but it consists of these sections too.
Earth. It gave us this life. Also I am afraid, people will solve not soon as she made it. But she gave birth to us, she warmed us, fed and preserved.
Blue sky. Clouds. Look, that is similar to a camel. Floats. And here outlines change and not to understand a form any more. A cloud …
A in that party of the sky plumose clouds. As though on blue someone poured whitewash and inaccurately a podter a rag. Color which caresses an eye. At sunset, poddernuto in the pink flowers … and very much Grodno and gloomy they look when darkens after a decline.
of the Cloud, what they different …
Heavenly blue what it is careful. Absorbing in itself the rigid x-ray radiation of stars, she allows us to admire clouds carefree.
Well? I not strongly bothered you? Yes, at me it sometimes not badly turns out.
Here your sortie on the nature ended. You with friends collect things. Someone fairly drank and being unsteady, something surely drops, and you should select behind it all.
All plunged into the car. Zaurchal the motor, you started, left … Excuse
for roughness, and srach you left the! As scars are scattered among a grass of a bottle, a piece of paper, packages, wrappers. A small feast for bugs, and … The nature will be able to absorb and dissolve this garbage years through twenty. And glass will remain for ages.
But the nature will not manage to absorb it and to digest. Already every other day, another will arrive other company, the third, fourth …
I here again, memoirs of singing of a nightingale. You remember? You could not find it then in a crown. And a fly in your ear. You spent minutes five that from there to get out it.
I you, without waiting for an occasion, even without taking with itself friends, you go there. Here it is a glade. Here that corner which so lovely embraced you last time and gave love. Here it. There is a garbage. And the love, that former did not become. And bare feet even more often will come across garbage. I … As it is not careful. Blood on a toe. Glass as the razor quite deeply rezonut a leg.
You swear?! Oh, yes! You swear. But I do not hear and I do not understand on whom you swear? You just throw abuse. Words in emptiness. And who addressee? Yes, of course, you are. You! last time left a bottle here. You and you similar, came here, to feel love, her pleasure. Yes, and they thought too that this glade here, and they somewhere far there. That this part them, or they part of it, they did not understand it, did not learn. And having left garbage, you and they here - you! you killed part of the soul. The small part ceased to live. Choked with garbage.