Запах утра, запах звездный, Запах скошенной травы, Запах...

The smell of morning, the smell of starry
 The smell of mowed grass
 The smell of silver is frosty
 The smell of the sky is blue
 
 The smell of distant, distant distant,
 And the depths are blacker than clouds
 The smell of dusk is sad
 Sun-rayed
 
 The smell of mountain echo-heights
 The smell of the sea and meadows
 The smell of creaking old chairs
 The smell of ticking hours
 
 Inhaling spellbound,
 I'm flying with my chest straight
 Above the fields, which is endless
 They pave the way for me.
 
S.Sh., November 22, 1999

Photos - "Forbs", Oleg Sukhoveev