Я хочу дышать запахом мелкого, легкого дождя парижских...

I want to breathe the smell of the shallow, light rain of Parisian streets and boulevards .. run the wind of freedom through this magical city ... yes! in the rain, yes! at dusk ... yes! winter and summer ...
Forget about the umbrella .., throw it in the wind .. forget about the hoods .. about harlequins and carnivals .. in the snow ... in the snow ... in the flying whiteness, where it is as if life was started anew .. and everything is washed and covered white ... and you leave new traces on untouched land .. snow is an uninhabited island ... a fairy tale .. then bask in a small cafe .. eat a lot of French buns ... stand barefoot and write Ruearu street .. . Yes! winter and summer .. yes! into the gloom ... under the flying lights, flickering light, like wings, like butterflies .. under the light of the lights onto which butterflies fly .. but ... I do not burn light in the night, so as not to burn the blind moths ... remember?
Yes! I remember ... yes! at dusk ... yes! in the summer ... in the spring ... to Paris ... watch how the watercolor, washed out by the rain, slowly drips onto my bare feet ... and smile loudly at that. And also, after a smile .. after this air with a layer of water, flowers grow in this city and rain makes the snails happy. And you recall that soft raindrops can crush stones and carve sculptures from the mountains ... and flow down your face like tears ...