I'm sad today
A sad autumn sketch.
I’m sad today.
Nothing happened. I’m sad because of the autumn. The city is like a large ship going underwater inevitably; like once healthy organism enveloped by a plague. City is preparing to bury itself under snow. City is preparing to die.
No opposition. The city has surrendered to the autumn, and so has the nature, and people, too. They themselves have put on warm clothes and now squint because of strong winds. The cold advances from north with the ﬁrst frosts, pushing cool air forward, and the wind throws leaves to people.
Autumn gets everywhere: even in the evergreen Moscow metro, on the Butovskaya line trains carry dry, yellow and red leaves.
I cry with Moscow. I want no winter. I want neither for the winter nor in the winter. I want warmth. I die with Moscow.
And my winter will not be a simple season. I’ll have to survive amidst cold sparkles of snows, amidst gray and brown winter slush, under the gray low sky, living short, low-sun days. I watch winter making towards me with its giant paws. I consider winter a feat. Winter as a feat.
The train scuds from Butovo to Altuﬁevo. I come with it through the evergreen metro. I’ve hidden, I’ve outwitted within the next forty minutes.