The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy. The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
farewell now
This short film was made by a schoolgirl. She passed away 15 years ago. Her name was Zoya. She reads poems by Marina Tsvetaeva. The songs are sung by Alla Pugacheva, lyrics by Marina Tsvetaeva.
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