The balcony was a romantic place with iconic-like pillars, lovely weather, peeling plaster and a noisy town turning into a village towards evening.
They were made only for kisses…. but all of a sudden, the lips are swearing.
Across the way, on the roof of a little workshop, a cat crouches, quiet as a broody hen, on a bed of leaves as smooth as a bird`s nest.
But now, as the sun sets, all becomes silent but for a whispering sigh and this peace turns into a threat. You can hear the silence, says the silence. All is still green. Winter was late this time. But there is no connection between the place and the inner feelings. The cat gets up, hissing and puffing. She is made of straw. The view from the balcony looks like a quiet pond, an asphalt field and a boat floating on it. I cast dry branches into the hard, grey waters and they float in the slow-moving stream.
A lonely figure strides along a narrow path in a swampy valley. On top of the rock a blue woman gives birth and two men are bearing a stretcher carrying an angel with broken wings. In this valley, fear hovers, like a weightless flight.
A fine day; no need to water the mint. Vadim Stepanov basks in the sun like a lizard, bobbing his head a little like a praying Hassid. Within our hearts we pray all the time for love, warmth, prosperity but also for revenge. With it were possible to have our revenge by doing good deeds!