Year was, and it is good

Good year... Do you laugh, perhaps? Though... Yes, good.

I will brag of nothing - new did not learn, did not make repair, did not heap up businesses, did not change image - anything of that kind. Even the unfortunate did not dovyshivat a she-wolf, so in a tambour and costs, it is shown, paws and a mouth are, there are no eyes, oh and she will look at me it is bad when nevertheless I dovyshivat - like, what pulled so many that detained?

Inside changed. Was ill, kovidit and. Not so that absolutely it is heavy - well, the truth? Understood a lot of things. That is, mind all of us understand it: that every moment it is valuable that God in trifles, and it is necessary to thank for each trifle that every day - a gift. We understand, we speak. And here to feel not at all it turns out. In a kovidariya you reinterpret a lot of things. Probably, cancer cases were such school of spirit earlier. When the world is suddenly narrowed to a bed and a bedside table, and you begin on this patch (yes where there the patch - the half-patch), on a bed and a bedside table to be equipped. Also you are equipped! Here the library, books lie. Here the ball and a hook, a corner of needlework turns out. The husband of a gantelka transferred, the easiest, on half a kilo - here and the gym.

When the world contracts to the half-patch of a hospital bed - life does not come to an end. It concentrates. This understanding amazes.

I live in an absolute zen now. Such tranquility inside. Nothing is terrible. Well, almost... And almost - it is not considered, huh? Well and unless there can be bad a year which presented this tranquility and confidence to me? Good year.

I collect trifles: the butterfly flew by, the nest bird's in the shed hid, the stork walks close, is not afraid. Blackberry kept up, big, juicy. To the pool after a sweating room - it is good. The sun fries. The rain made a noise so last night that it seemed, at least the herd of beemdeshka by the house rushed. The hurricane took a tribute the broken tree yes the door which is torn off from a hotbed more and does not shkodit, though flies by sometimes - well and the same is good.

And, there was nevertheless a new experience. Decided at last the rhymes to living people aloud to esteem. I write long ago, on a stikhirka several pages under pseudonyms, there are about ten virtual friends poets. And so, alive, all hesitated. Showed, called on "A Slavic market" to esteem. Read, was afraid, clapped. Now on a festival call. Still I am afraid, but - it is good!

Ridiculous grew up piece. By sight watermelon, and of the size of a phalanx of a thumb will be. Actually not watermelon, cucumber. Mini-cucumber melotriya. Laughed, tried, to friends asked riddles - oh, what is it? Nobody guessed.

And in confidence - most important horoshest it ahead. Just about, very soon. In September my child is going to give birth to himself to the child.

And only try to tell somebody that year is bad! I will bite)