Nadezhda Seredina

An Autumn Study

The shore. The wind is cold and heavy. The waves, rough and hasty, break against the old tree. Grinding and moaning, one half of it falls off the cliff, the other one hangs drooping down its armlike roots and touching lifelessly the sand. Split along the trunk, it dropped its crow of leaves on the ground. Life has not deserted it yet, but it is dying away in its autumn half ream.

Coldness. Cold are the fingers, shoulders, lips. The wind is chilling the heart, creeping into the soul.

Stillness. A shot of a film fixed our souls, tress`s and mine, which are so alike in this late autumn.

Autumn. The memory develops another shot, the old picture of the first feeling. The river is cold and muddy, and you are walking and you feel it. The flame of passion is fading away , the mind, getting cold, is seeking a new form of soul and body. The flame is fading away. The word that used to be so harmlessly ihsignficant, now is pushing me in the abyss of the murky water.

The icy water laves the feet, binds them. What is it? An electric current or convulsion?

Another beginning or another end? What for? I wish I could go away? Far away into the cold rationality, into the hard tension of practicality, where everything is so distinct, and right, and simple. To go just anywhere... And never to stop! Never to be alone...

The water rises to the chest, embraces the shoulders. Are there the waves that are salty or the lips? The tears are poised and there is no pain. You enter the water and melt in to it. As if the world has not been created yet. To see the simple in the intricate, that's what maters. "Where are you? Come back..'

Whose words are they. So distant and remote?

Too late. The vicious circle has closed. A man's hands are strong. The picked me up and carried to the shore. The lifeless feet are touching the sand are the arms are like broken branches. Love has gone away. Just as Life goes, as the soul leaves its body.

Harmony seeks its shape in real life and you merge into the sound of waves, into the warmth of the tree, into the autumn.

A moment is the pulse of life. An instant of love! What happiness! An instant of love - what bitter disappointment.

The camera goes on fixing the colors of feelings and the silhouettes of thoughts. How unexpectedly at times does the past come back to us.