Once there was a girl Fri.
And she left her country because her parents told her, that it would be better if they move to another country.
She was happy to know new people and new friends. Especially she was waiting the spring because she like when the nature was waking up from the sleep, she usually was going to the forest and was lieing under the trees and listening the birds.
One day she understood, that now it is a spring- sun is shining in a very springy way, birds started to sing and she went to the forest.
But in the forest she realised that she cannot smell anything.
All flowers were familiar to her but not there were no smells.
She picked up the bucket and took it to show her friends.
«Do you feel that they smell somehow?» — asked Fri her friend.
«Yes, they smell like honey and strawberry» — answered her friend.
«But I do not feel it» — told Fri to herself.
And she started to wait and another spring came. Everything was going very good, even better than the girl could expect, but she stil could not smell the spring at that place, and summer grass and autumn apples. No doctors could understand why she could not smell the tastes of spring. «Maybe this is something connected with gennes?» — the doctors used to say.
When the next spring came, she said to her mother:
«I want to come back»
When Fri came to the forest she thought that the forest opened a new dimension for her because she could smell, every small grass, every leaf and every flower which was a symbol of a new life.

p.s.
Why short story?
Nowadays people do not read long stories, for them sometimes they can be too boring.
Nowadays people follow not their logic, but other people who follow them, so that it is like a circle where there is no end.

You know, as in windows there were green lounge as the background,
now when we do not use windows long time, we have real lounge in our windows…

couch, red and black in the morning
utrecht

barbieQ

what are you thinking about…

when people are opening as buds of flowers do in the morning

lovers

папу называть отцом начинаешь когда говоришь о нём кому-то
«мой отец удивительный», «мой отец знаёт то, чего не знаю я», «мой отец и моя мама», это как две разные коннатации, которые должны всегда быть у нас внутри, нет?

от мамы мы узнаём, что можем дышать,
что можем, смотреть,
что можем петь,
говорить с первым «мама»,
что можем читать, писать, улыбаться,
есть, спать, просыпаться от того, что кто-то на кухне готовит вкусный кофе…

room is round