Yesterday, having already grown tired of the sparkling brilliance extracted by the sun from everything that can decompose its light into seven colors and hundreds of their shades, I thought that Winter was therefore solemn, unlike other seasons.
She is always stern, but solemn only in the sun, which straightens her back and slightly lifts her chin.
Today she calms me down again, without requiring any action.
No, I can't manage with a triptych this time, the frame with the tree, which I always photograph, does not fit into it. The last of those that grew here in abundance, until they began to repair and expand the road for us, and did not engage in the already hated "landscaping", turning everything into a steppe.
Нет, не получается на этот раз обойтись триптихом, не помещается в него кадр с деревом, которое я фотографирую всегда. Последнее из тех, что тут росли во множестве, пока не начали нам ремонтировать и расширять дорогу, и не занялись уже ненавистным "благоустройством", превращая всё в степь.