Today: January 16 2019
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I talked to my past today and I was not ashamed. Probably, it forgave me.


We lived in the taiga. In the winter, when a lot of snow fell, when even the House swept under the roof, someone would go out on the street first and trample on the first footpath. And then it was easier for everyone else to follow the trampled tracks. At us it was Uncle Sasha, at which the size of a leg was so huge that footwear to it did by hand under the order. He woke up early and went out onto the snow-covered street. It was still dark in the street at five in the morning, as at night. And in this night, deep, huge trails drift away into the distance, and somewhere in the distance a flashing light of a flashlight. Uncle Sasha is paving the way. On his trail it was convenient to walk along his path laid in snowdrifts, along his huge tracks. And every following, following in the footsteps of Uncle Sasha made this path even more convenient, easier in overcoming snowy debris, snowdrifts. The tracks turned into a path, a path to the path.

Uncle Sasha passed, gratefully flashed a thought in the mind of those who woke up later.

All our lives we walk on roads that have already been laid by someone. It is convenient to walk along such a road, easily.

Go along this road so that those who follow are even easier to go.


Taiga loves silence. Old hunters speak quietly in the taiga. A noisy person will always make a remark. And not because they are on the hunt, but because the taiga does not like noise.

But I do not want to make noise there either. Otherwise, you will not hear how the taiga talks to you.

In the city it is noisy, people talk in elevated tones. They shouted. Why? Maybe because they do not want to hear anyone? Or because they do not want to hear? Maybe because the above is not so important, if you have to shout?

In crying it is impossible to hear what is good and true, what they say to you quietly, without raising their voices.

Taiga does not like noise.


Sometimes when they come to the forest and hear the cuckoo, people ask, but how many years have they left to live. And they start to count how much the bird will bite. And then it happens that the cuckoo is silent after such a question. Are you upset? Do not be discouraged, the bird heard you and wondered why this question was asked to it.


Once I got lost a bit in the taiga. But I found traces of the wet moss. Someone passed, and so knew where he was going. So I went on this trail, which led me to the shore of a taiga river. In which direction this stream ran, I knew, and it became easier for me to find the way to the house. On the beach, on the sand, I saw that I was following a bearish trail. The teddy befell me then, showed the way to the house.


The road to the house. It was a happy time when I walked along this road. And the only thing. In the distant childhood. I already began to forget what it looks like, I have not walked on it for so long ...


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