Within its gates I heard the soundOf winds in cypress caverns caughtOf huddling tress that moaned, and soughtTo whisper what their roots had found.(__ Dream of Fear_)
On the morning, Daddy and I get up at six o'clock because Christmas trees must be bought in the dark. We walk to the other end of town, as the big harbour is just the right setting for buying a Christmas tree. We spend hours choosing, looking at every branch suspiciously. It's always cold.
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On the morning, Daddy and I get up at six o'clock because Christmas trees must be bought in the dark. We walk to the other end of town, as the big harbour is just the right setting for buying a Christmas tree. We spend hours choosing, looking at every branch suspiciously. It's always cold.
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_ожно лежа__ на мо___ и _мо__е__, как _е_е_ вода. _ли бега__, или поб_оди__ по боло__ в к_а_н__ _апожка_, или же _ве_н_____ кл_бо_ком и _л__а__, как дожд_ ____и_ по к___е. ____ __а__ливой о_ен_ легко.
Mine was the twilight and the morning. Mine was a world of rooftops and love songs.
Haunted trees covered behind the curtains of their own leaves stare at the dark from the fringe of streets.
Gloom and darkness are temporary. Joy comes in the morning.
Nothing can be as peaceful and endless as a long winter darkness, going on and on, like living in a tunnel where the dark sometimes deepens into night and sometimes eases to twilight, you're screened from everything, protected, even more alone than usual.