And Yashin is biography

Everything that sang will continue to sing the same way, reaching growth ... You can just roar - before that everything is simple. So what should I wish for everyone? You just have to die, since it's time. I am with my God -given peer under a wooden under the Jactovskaya staircase. In the crumb, the gatehouse, in the barn - remember? It seemed to us: in a separate room.

We were young, not stored: in hunger, in the cold, they are still happy. Blood pressure, heart beating were normal surprisingly. Like miracles, they boasted with porches, and tuesami, and Russian stoves. Windows in patterns, roofs with shelters, cool in the sky with skates, with filly. They did not grieve that they were near the square, with hay, with firewood, horses were drowning.

We flocked the ruts with logs, we are the sidewalks of bridge with stones. And the patients were and schematic, unpretentious, unimportant. How we loved! How smiled! The most like loved one seemed to be. Not on "victories" and "Volga" - where is there! What do we need furry beavers and peppers? The guys were proud of the redhead of red. There was no bed under the flag of the South.

Honest word equal to the oath. In hunger, in the cold we lived in Vologda. But they were young, that's how young! Ah, how stupid and young! And stayed. I live alone. What to wish now? Do the victory, don't count the losses ... But where is everything that I achieved? Again, no one knocked on me, no one knocked on the whole day! Although it would not be in the soul - at the door ...

Waiting, how difficult it will be for me to die, to break my breath on a lot! I do not leave - to leave, I'm afraid of no meetings of possible - parting. Life lies at the feet with an incompetent wedge. The earth will never be fluff: I have never taken a noble love and spoke deafly for suffering. Not a single one ended the path. How imperceptibly autumn has come! Flying flies.

Where it flies there - it wears a crazy wind in the light. Losses of hearts are not visible to people, and joys knock on the door less and less. Neither my own nor from someone else's fault I renounce, but the debts are the same. Did what? Where to put yourself from bile regret and reproaches? Oh, how difficult it will be for me to die! And no lessons can be learned ...

It seemed yes ... It thought that everything was forever, like air, water, light: her faithful faith, her heart's strength would be enough for a hundred years. I’ll order - and it will appear, night or day - does not count, it will appear from under the ground, it will cope with any grief, the sea will cross. It is necessary - it will pass to the waist in star dry snow, through the taiga to the pole, in the ice, through "I can not." It will be on duty, if it is necessary, a month in the legs without sleep, if only nearby, nearby, rejoicing that it is needed.

It seemed yes ... how you let me down! Suddenly she left forever - the authorities did not count what she herself gave me. With grief, I can’t cope, in the voice of the roar, call. No, nothing will recover: it will not appear from under the ground, unless not in reality. So I live. But, probably, you are somewhere? And not a stranger - mine ... But what? Maybe evil? You live, probably, waiting for me, and we will meet, God, God news!

I don't know anything about you. Here is one again. Daunch years. My heart gives interruptions. What if we will never meet - trouble or happiness is for both? .. Smooth trains depart, supersonic soar ... Where? We would not grind with you with you. A lonely, like a god, like a demon, among coniferous roads - quiet, nemo. Like a desert in the forest, a schematic, a wanderer, I eat mushrooms, I drink dew, I fly wounds.

I don’t grumble for people and I don’t ask for anything. The truth would be for me! About yourself, about you the truth-uterus: who are you still in my fate of my brief? Neither judge nor to blame. Is it possible to forget everything that was? Do not forget, do not forget to the grave! I will respond as I decide, I understand something. In the meantime ... I do not write.

Pain with work is jamming and hunting. I catch the crayfish and shirts in the Rakov river ... And I love you, to regret, I love, I love it! .. But now I pray: - Deliver, God! There is no right to spare myself, and a stupid dispute about the valor, about glory has not been conquering since then. What awaits me, I don’t know, I do not live as I want and I rush to myself on the shoulder.

The poor guide is so small in the soul of the lumen that there is no hunting even to burn yourself. And friends simply look at what business, I am baptized three -time or another cross. As an old -fashioned knight, I am funny in their eyes. Do I need my feat?

Is he? The lands without sensing, enthusiastically squeal, crawl on the embrasure, holding the blade in my teeth. The tree is yellow. It all started with this: something in it was strangled, moved, torn. Maybe - a layer of displacement, hidden for the time being, as with earthquake - folds of the earth's crust? And the Zhivitsa flowed to the feet of the trunk, so that the amber thicken; Maybe the beginning of evil was in immense growth: the tree was deposited to the sky, the tree is irrelevant?

Or did the bugs-bugs take him in full? .. Blacks, from below, from all sides, fell on top. Someone cut out the initials on the trunk, the bitch in the snowfall broke ... Little by what squat bent him to the ground! Yellow in the khvoy spots - a yellow rash in a borus. Woodpeckers sank, tapped the bark. The mighty trunk will be borne - it’s a pity to chop it! Maybe for the first case you should treat?

Maybe he just rests, it does not die, it just changes the outfit, the cold is burned? It just got a little. Cope - not a log! But everything has already been decided: - Wood? Eco business!