Rus Articles Journal

If holiday - in the fall. Travel around the house: in Siberia, in June of

As always - May comes to an end, and with it time of feverish reflections comes: “Where to go? Where to have a rest?“ . From year to year same. But this time for a change I take vacation in the fall, and now I stay at home.

Siberian summer. Very short and very bright. During the winter (which, by the way, begins in October and comes to an end in March then two months of dirt under the name “spring“ follow) monotony, more precisely, the monochromaticism of paints bothers therefore with some special delight arrival of June shy (first) is perceived.

Though the summer does not come here - it collapses. The first on trees leaflets were hardly outlined, and the third they already about a palm; since morning near the road a green border of a grass, and in the evening there already yellow strip of chickens - dandelions. Bright to impossibility! And in several days all is not enough - malsk the place, free from asphalt and houses, resembles the artist`s palette: red frying, snow caps of a bird cherry, oil - solar flowers of night blindness, blue irises, it is gentle - a pink dogrose, a scattering of small blue flowers which name I also do not know - and all this smells, and in what a way!

A sky? Week under 30 º About the whitish cloth which - is burned out, faded with impregnations it is pale - blue. And here, at last, breeze, clouds, shaggy, similar to vatu (though, no, where clouds? - clouds) which promptly become blue, darken, blacken and at the same time grumble. At first deafly, discontentedly, it is hardly heard. Then grumble is louder and louder, wind is stronger, lightnings are more furious - and at the same time there is a strange intense silence of expectation.

But here the first drop slowly as if unwillingly, flies on the earth. Behind it the second breaks, then the third, and suddenly heavy rain at once collapses. And together with its noise comes to life and the city reaches for it towards. And the cloud was already punched by a ray of sunlight, and over the gulf the air semitsvetny bridge was already thrown...

Short flash of June, the escaping heat of July and some more tender days of August in which the smell of fall already differs... Yes, Alexander Sergeyevich, “our northern summer - a caricature of the southern winters, will flash and is not present...“. But from it it is even more valuable.

Olga Kovrova