Article 17

The holiday is a very delicate thing. We learned it in our childhood, as we learned carrying our bags. It is smooth like the skin of summery dream, making us a spring butterfly. I was very happy when I saw his heart. Its waterfalls amazed me. They were calm as a girl braids. That holiday, which we saw him in someday, and we feel his sleepy hands. I see it clearly when it plants its field with wet tales. That holiday, which is coming from faraway town. It stands with its silky coat in the middle of street as a strange man. It dissolves in our veins as a passion letters. I was very wrong when I thought that it is an emigrant goose.

Despite all of these dark clouds, and despite the absence of simplicity behind the skyline, I still like the sky color, and its wide space which make you feel that you are a light paper over the winds. The sky despite its changeable color, it likes the simple things. It bends to wipe a head of a wet bird. As this, as a paper in river, I want to live in simplicity, walking in my town alleys with breeze jests with my deep. I am now feeling boredom in this noisy city. The birds are few nowadays. I was trying to plant a tree from that type which blossoms in winter to make the birds live with no estrangement, or in a precise words to make myself live with no estrangement, because the color of my county becomes so strange. The birds told me that they are tired from waiting the runaway boats. They were whispering in my ears that the earth becomes red like the lipstick. Yes, the birds don't lie. They are icy and strange creatures. Listen to their chants which will make your soul remember the loyalty.