malwina

Hello everyone ! Today I decided to experiment and produce a blog in Russian . I know guys, my English is not perfect. I have today my blog I would like to share with you my mini prose sketches . Today is the first day of autumn and my study focuses on a girl named Autumn . submit for your consideration , favorite )

With love your Malvina

What is the face of autumn ? Does this red-haired girl with a scattering of golden snub-nosed freckles on boldly turned-up nose . It collects plump , soft and rounded arms pile of yellow leaves and tossing them up with joyful peals of laughter whirls around. Does this girl's name is Autumn, whose curls of birch tar and smell acrid smoke of the fires ? Its a bright pink puffy lips speak the language of the north winds and a gray slanting her eyes the color of the sky nabryakshigo rain ? Perhaps her name sung lyric poet and essay passages devoted to her in thick notebooks of young girls secretly dreaming of heavenly love . Small mortar Ginger stepped on the grass, it ends in razukrashivaya painful yellow. She made faces in the puddles and bathe in the cold rain . She sat proudly on the walls of abandoned and rickety fences from time to time , quietly humming a sad tune .
One time I met this girl playful Autumn on one of the narrow streets of the City. She was walking in the open long sundress embroidered with gold patterns . Long skirts rustling music of fallen leaves and heavy rain. Red hair rested on the shoulders of complete and fancy rings snake- framed round baby face . She smiled at me and opened her cheeks flushed a delicate pink blush sunset of October and arms outstretched palms doll with short , hurried me to a meeting. I hesitantly took a step forward , Autumn seemed to me a little too much , but it was coming up to me one of growth. I boldly looked into her eyes , trying to find its reflection in the eyes of the deprived eye relief , but only a bottomless grayness absorbed me . Her touch was like a cold burn , there remained a blush on my cheeks . Her voice was smooth , but the words do not make out a murmur and whisper . As if chained to the place I was and I wanted to stay with this girl , hugging her and hide his face in red curls, inhaling the smell of tar and smoke. But she suddenly laughed and made a sharp turn and once behind me skipping ran on . Faster and faster the sound of her feet sounded again , and in a narrow street running down the little girl and her arms out to the side , the golden leaves fluttering in the wind .