Look, here it is, lying in the palm of your hand, neither losing it nor dropping it, shimmering, emitting an amber, warming light, just like the scale of an ancient radio receiver.
Listen closely, it is she who sings to you that everything is possible in the coming magical December, you just need to tune out the interference, tighten the verniers and through the noise and crackle of the never-fading ether catch the necessary and important words intended only for you.
Feel it, it gives warmth, even though the snowflakes do not melt, descending on its shining wings, it gives hope. Who are we without hope?
It is a great thing to remember that there is a place for good in the world.
It is a great effort to remember this every day and every hour.
It's high, it's high up there
Someone's spilled milk
And it turned out to be a milky road,
And along it, along it, along it,
Between the fields of pearls
The moon floats by
Like a white pie...
You know, there used to be a tradition to write lyrics for future songs in such a way that both dreams and hope lived in them. Let's talk a little bit about traditions. When, if not in December, to do it. We all believe in the impossible, even if we are afraid to admit it to ourselves. Faith is akin to a future miracle. Nothing is there yet, but we know for sure that everything will happen. How, what an incredible coincidence, but it will only happen. Absolutely, because nothing else is excluded.
And during the starfall
I've seen it in the sky
Two stars flew side by side
Do you believe me or not?
Do you believe me or not?
And the most important thing here is to answer immediately, to answer with your heart, without thinking, without weighing every word on the scales. Because the price of that word is the same – its sincerity. And what does it matter to us that the stars do not fly in pairs, that they are celestial bodies, infinitely distant from us, that burn up, deceiving us with false hopes, cunning cosmic meteorites that for endless centuries pretend to be stars? What's in it for us?
Of course, I believe you.
Can there be any doubts?
I've seen it all myself.
It's our secret
Our secret!
All those songs (you recognize them, of course) are sewn into the fabric of existence, like a thin bright thread, into a huge and colorful carpet. No matter how many patterns there are on it, the brightest of the threads is always visible.
And we glance at her, freeze when she loses sight and it seems that everything is lost, we happily catch our breath when she emerges from nothingness again, as if she had never disappeared at all...
Sometimes, as children, we have dreams. Special. In which the phantom reality seems not only real, but acquires all the signs of a fully material existence. And when you wake up, you want to touch something that was elusive, or something that was true a moment ago, but...
But here's the thing: it's true. Everything you see somewhere is bound to exist. And we aspire there, to it, to the unrealizable existence, we rush forward and upward, overcoming the earth's gravity and ourselves in our seeming helplessness every day, surprising both the world and the stars with our smallness and exorbitant power. And if it were not so, no man would ever dare to make love...
After all, you are a human being, you are both strong and brave.
Make your destiny with your own hands,
Go against the wind, don't stand still.
Understand that there is no such thing as an easy road.
And here we go. Clutching the star in his chilly palm. Believing in December. Believing in yourself and your dreams. Year after year. And there's no end to it. And more than anything else, songs help us in this. You know, the same ones. From times gone by. When everything seemed and was possible.
There's nowhere for us to hide,
But you can't postpone life in any way...
Remembering the transience of existence, remembering all those who have not been with us for a long time, we stubbornly move towards the goal, regardless of gray hair, wrinkles, accumulated fatigue and inescapable sadness. Why? Why is that? Because we are human beings. The fire of knowledge burns within us, and even on the darkest days we raise our heads, resting our eyes on the starry sky, and muttering something under our breath: "How far the hell is it.. Someday I'll be there!" As for the cycle of the universe, we are our own man-made gods...
For hundreds of years, day and night rotate
Carousel-land.
For hundreds of years, everyone in life comes back
It's its own circles.
But there is a wind of change in the world.
He will arrive, chasing away the winds of betrayal.
He will dispel when the time comes,
Winds of separation, resentment of the wind.
And so it will be. And in December, this is especially hard to believe. An aching feeling, about to burst from my eyes. But... We are made of strong celestial stars. Nothing can break us.
Things like that.
It's another December.
Let's be happy.
Let us rejoice in his eternal coming.
And on the moon, on the moon,
On a blue boulder
The Moon Men are watching —
They don't take their eyes off
Like the moon, the moon
A blue globe, a globe of the earth,
It sprouts very beautifully
And it does!
The author's point of view may not coincide with the position of the editorial board.