Siberian Nodia bonfire
Pike never managed to persuade high atmospheric pressure these days. Although in places remote, on the Volga and Vetluga, she, apparently, still came across, especially to the one who was looking for. I, on a boat, walked around our nearest city places near Shiryaykovo and the cable-stayed suspension bridge, where in the summer I caught pike and perch, but this time I only caught a half pound of lace. Released. Where is he going? On the fry it is small, on the ear – even more so. Let it grow.
He spat, drank tea from a thermos, packed up the boat, and headed home. I dug up dung beetles right outside the house, as they say, in the backyard. The house was recently bought, new, there are still no secret corners and any sheds where you can always find under the boards and the old slate even crawling out, even under leaflets and dung beetles. But I created, so to speak, a miraculous monument, but simply a bunch of leaves and all kinds of tops, where I regularly threw food waste.
It seems cold in the mornings already to gray hair on the grass, rowanberries rustle with frost, glass puddles choke underfoot, crunching with young ice, and dug up his treasured pile, having previously removed the cabbage leaves, and there the orange-striped dung beetles and all seasoned, peppy from the frost and most important “Bundles,” so to speak. Continue reading