Cold equator

And I went in the stillness of my closed room, imagining the river, the sunflower seeds, the threshing machine, our river, our house in the country, the willow and eucalyptus trees, the deep, smiling rural eyes, the anxiety in the city, the glass, the pale faces, Gregor's mustache, and I remembered the writer himself, rushing along. I flipped through the pages, searching curiously for the scenes that took place in the village, without stopping, and its pages always shook me when they brought back the Cossacks from the war every time... so I returned with them to the village... to our village, to our house, and the flour machine, and the telephone poles, and the tree canopies. , red flood waters, the orange sun disk, and streams. The tangled, dangling branches of the girls' hair trees sweep the water of the river, and the current plays with them, sweeps them away, and they obey it... but within limits, and they always remain in their place... each branch is tied to its root, linked to its tree standing in the mud... it absorbs it, opposes the water, and traps it behind it above The river water creates heaps of straw, birds, and the remains of hay, whispers to the roots in the waves' waves, and confuses them in the play of the eddies.