Behind the village was a hole; by evening, sure though slow, into that hole the sun would roll, to sleep, for all I know. And then, next morning, crimson-clad, the sun would rise and shine, till finally it made me mad — the same each blasted time!
at Pushkino, Akulov Hill, Rumyantsev s dacha, 27 versts from Moscow by Yaroslavl railway. The sunset blazed like sixty suns. July was under way. The heat was dense, the heat was tense, upon that summer’s day. The slope near Pushkino swelled up i...
Thanks for the poem @Gerda de Vos. I particularly like the first line: «В сто сорок солнц закат пылал» The photos are from yesterday, not from summer. After two cold days between -5°C during the day and -10°C at night, there was only light frost (-1°C) yesterday afternoon (and tonight).
@Gerda de Vos Such cold is a challenge. It could be six years ago we had a few nights at -20° C. A week ago we had a few nights temperatures down to -10° C for the second time this winter.
Behind the village
was a hole;
by evening, sure though slow,
into that hole
the sun would roll,
to sleep, for all I know.
And then,
next morning,
crimson-clad,
the sun would rise
and shine,
till finally it made me mad —
the same each blasted time!
from here
Vladimir Mayakovsky. An amazing adventure of Vladimir Mayakovsky. Translated by Dorian Rottenberg
ruverses.com