I am a part of these dying and cold woods

The whole world fills up for a certain time to revive again, this state is called fall. Shipped in an eternal rest where time ceases to exist, the wood gives the hands to me, trying to warm cold me. The falling burningdown foliage, the attached tapes on a branch to give the sign that hasn t still died that there is a hope. Absorbing the written poetry in a notebook, I try to find understanding among trees and foliage, but not at people. Eating different parts of the world, and in this case a moss, a shell I become their part. Only after an okonchatlyeny unification with all people around, there are transparent spheres from within it is parts of crystalclear soul. Becoming a part of this world you become real, live and complete, as well as these spheres are complete. The withering rose as an indicator of that rapidity of life and the world. Trying to recover this rose from the dead of a tree, having put gifts of the seas and a part of the soul, you blindly hope that everything will revive. That the