“Moscow in March is sandpaper,” said Tatyana. Like when the wind kicks up and your fingers go dead and your lips freeze till you can’t speak Russian and even your English falters, and your nose cracks and bleeds and the blood freezes. So cold the battery starts to die after a couple of shots outside, and you wrap yourself around yourself, and no one says hello. And the dogs turn to leather and the old ladies need help and the only safe place is the old church where I sit in the half light and slowly fall asleep.
Once I dreamed I was a butterfly, and now I no longer know whether I am Chuang-Tsu, who dreamed I was a butterfly, or whether I am a butterfly dreaming I am Chuang-Tsu…
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11 Comments
Crikey, Pinks, it sounds like you are definitely VERY cold – brain included! Either buy a fur coat real fast or come back NOW!
Comrade, have a shot of vodka! When get that fur coat, make sure its faux fur!
Is it any surprise that comrade Trotsky fled ultimately to Mexico? The photo is lovely. Eager to hear / see more.
Yes, Trotsky went to the other side. We will try him and then hang him.
Good morning from Greece. I can feel the snow…
I can feel it a bit too.. like the faint memory of the Ovilos
Lovely photo, I’ve only seen snow when I was a child in Ukraine
bellle
wow..COLD INDEED!
lveoly photo, it does describe the situation.
For a change i would love to feel that cold ! Its 39 C here in Ghana !!!!!
simply fantastic..dats the word.
cheers bro