We have three barometers in our house.
One barometer hangs above my husband's desk. He (the husband, not the table) dreamed of a real barometer all his life, and all his life the toad was strangling us to buy one, then where will you get one, a real one? And when Sandy and I were by the sea, we came specially to the marina, found a special shop there, raised the ears of the owner, who knew neither English nor Ukrainian, but only Greek, and forced him to get a real barometer for the yacht in front of our eyes.
And they bought it, and brought it to my father, and gave it as a gift. And he was happy. Now he turns the needle, now a change in weather will not take him by surprise, the storm will not snatch the steering wheel from his hands. Let not his sails weaken.
The second barometric group is outside our window. There is a bird feeder there, and I regularly spoil them by adding food there. And when they fly in and start eating those seeds, I know, I know, that there will be a change in the weather to cold. Or in the rain, when tasty fatty insects are hiding.
Our third barometric gang has five tails, 20 paws, 10 ears and many whiskers.
Yes, because they are walking in the garden, chasing lizards, because the mice and moles were strangled long ago, the bastards. And all lizards have long been tailless. And when the period of gatherings comes, then I just have time to catch these faces and put them under arrest.
But when they crowd at the door and flow into the house like a multi-colored river – head-tail-head-tail – the river flows… Then I know for sure that it will be cold. Or rain. Or strong wind.
Or shelling.
Because they feel shelling several hours in advance. This is how they feel.
…Actually, I wanted to write that things are quiet here for now. We're in the village. It flies here, of course, but so far everything is passing by. Well, except that sometimes it stinks somewhere.
In fact, I wanted to write that you, the people of Kiev, are going through such a mess. And Odessa residents. And the Cossacks. And Kharkovites. And in general.
Well, except for the front, of course.
I probably wouldn’t have agreed to spend the night in Kyiv on the night of shelling – although I spent the night at the front on such, you know, nights of shelling that God forbid.
But I wanted to say that at the front it’s different. It’s even louder and scarier there, no matter who argues, but not me. But it is perceived differently.
And in the city. There are children here, you know. Lots of children.
…But from today it’s less.
Kyiv.
Two children's lives today.
So far from the known ones. The rubble hasn't been cleared yet.
Two girls will no longer be able to hold a lizard in their palms. They won't hug a cat in a dream. They will not go to the marina embankment. In some beautiful southern city.
Two, and this is only today, and only in Kyiv. And the rubble hasn't been cleared yet.
I don't know how to experience this.
How do we survive all this…
Source:
Diana Makarova / Facebook
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