"Усталость преодолевая, иду домой едва дыша, но тлеет...

"Overcoming fatigue, I go home barely breathing,
but the pain point is smoldering ... Her name is still the soul!

The lot fell to me untalented ...
And I’ve been fighting him for three years ...

Do not be afraid of me, my welcome!
I’m afraid of myself ... "
Veronica Valley

But it came up from somewhere in the bowels of the subconscious ... A difficult day turned out to be - through my strange cold due to fatigue, a runny nose, so similar to an allergy to heroic labor, it was necessary to focus and have a conversation, and listen, and be able to understand and write down .. .

I do not want to complain. But do not complain, it seems, has failed.
And still I want about something else. About the mystical.

In Koryazhma I went for a walk in the evening. Those same minus 17. The streets are modestly lit. And I was drawn to the river. Vychegda.

I went on the map. I reached the end of the illuminated streets - walked from Lenin Avenue to Safyan Street, you see, there is a top left?

While walking, she realized that it was dark on the right. That is completely. But somewhere there beyond the "dark" river. Walked on.

There are few people around, but some children are walking. On the way, the House of Children's Creativity was discovered. I go further.

The snow creaks. Everything is white. The trees are frosty.
Turned right again - along Safyan. Heading into the dark. And at some point I understand - where is he taking me ?! Because some guys walk in the distance. People were scared.

When she left the light for the river, it is dark there, the fear completely disappeared. Wow ... I can only be afraid of people. It’s as if I’ll definitely agree with everything and everyone else. Yes, in general, remembering life, I will agree with people ... But for some reason I do not want to try with them. In this sense.

The river is already under the snow. The moon is small, growing, there is little light from it. And you can see all-all the stars. The big dipper is right in front of me above the horizon, low. I listen - not the whole river under the snow, as if the middle has not yet risen and the water is hitting the ice ... The sound of ice on ice ...

It turns out to breathe carefully. I turn my head from the river - the trees against the light in the distance are completely lacy. Birch trees with frozen weeping branches ... Winter's tale ...

She breathed in, absorbed her eyes ... As if she touched the important.

And back to the hotel.
(51)

https://api-maps.yandex.ru/frame/v1/-/CZskBL3l