Rus Articles Journal

What tells a mirror about? About appeal and...

the worst - to stiffen in someone`s memory a dried butterfly under glass, to be captured forever in the prime of life on the general film, and then - oops … and to appear in a modern appearance again. As Duncan Maklaud from the past in the present!

With only that difference that the Mountaineer was a clear head and the lassie at all times. And mere mortals can wear out in due form accounting, proceeding from the initial cost and useful service. Well, in any case, it is considered to be so that we lose a covering over the years. It is considered that you were lucky if initial cost was high and useful term is long.

So, on sofas imposingly settled down, to waiters disposed, previously phoned to all. We sit, we wait, freely we talk, we inhale aroma of spicy herbs, a bouquet of expensive wines. Here the first guests begin to appear. Stop! And who these baldish gentlemen and the grown plump ladies? My schoolmates, perhaps? Where here a rear entrance - a rat track? I should walk urgently on it …

When to you fifteen, the world begins to make somersaults, becoming independent from the head. When it is recorded in a standing position, you already eighteen. And you are ready to be something. And, really, you represent some time. But you have no time to notice these years, there is no time to appreciate all high of youth. And therein there comes other interesting period.

It begins years in 25. The period when your appearance changes so promptly that to 40 from you, there is no first pouring left, also a trace. And you understand that reunions should be begun before you enter For 30 club … Otherwise sadly to look at the matured faces of friends. You look at them, and you think of yourself. Really and I there... I will be amortized...

Take away me from here!
of the Man discuss dachas and cars, women - children and a diet. The meeting resembles boring cinema. But then someone remembers something ridiculous and there is that thin thread from nowhere that connected all of us once. Oops! It appears, it did not tear, just became absolutely invisible!

Five minutes later all laugh, try to outvoice each other. And already solid gentleman with a happy paunch in a strict suit turns into the lean defenseless Academician. And the tease Pleshivy that pushed to me mix of snow and the earth by the scruff. And Zhmotina - Begemotina liking to pull out fur from my fur coat. Let`s leave, I will put on from it aside just in case. Buldozhka, Sharapyzla and Parallelogram. My dear, native...

managed to Come off Time Tram steps to very few people. And those who managed hardly are glad now. It is ridiculous to me to read books on preservation of eternal youth, such councils of a filatovsky Baba-yaga: “Eat birch bark and you will cheer up till a time“...

If to pull out a dried butterfly from a box, it quickly will begin to spoil. But those who now near me, will never deteriorate. Because they are people. Not a photo of twenty-year prescription, and real, living people. Part of history of my city, my personal history.

Trifles that the covering suffered a little while the motor roars and inside the butterfly flits. Our character and experience, our abilities never wear out, and on the contrary, are enriched and as good wine, are more expensively appreciated over time. The person is capable to make the soul stale, and life boring.

Time with a mirror agreed to finish you. But as if Time did not try, do not long, looking at itself in a mirror. Do not look at what it shows, look through, directly in soul. Eventually, you not small to judge by a wrapper.

Sat, chatted, laughed, dispersed.

I come back from a meeting in a condition of sad thoughtfulness. Yet not absolutely late, the youth behind a fence kicks a ball. Oh these my odnoklassnichka, and fell short of eight, ran up on affairs: to prepare - to erase, to learn lessons, on a sofa in front of the TV to roll. The ball jumps over a fence and cheerfully jumps in my party.

“Hey, beauty! Well, give myachishko!“, - I hear a youthful voice on that side of a fence. It it to me perhaps?! Even I do not understand at first, but for some reason I jump behind a ball and I throw it back. “Oh, spasibochka!“, - rejoice behind a fence.

More nobody pays attention to me. But I for some reason do not cease to jump - I run on the escalator in the subway, I vzmetatsya up a ladder to the apartment and all evening I work, without cease, in a condition of some multi-colored cheerfulness.

So to hell, to hell … to play all theories in myachishko with the good guy does not happen late.