How can I remember, never from year to year, the end of the autumn did not repeat. All the time is different. That frosts shmalnut yes beznezhnyya, but then all the warmth and heat, and drizzle for weeks. As they said in the old days: "It's time for a black autumn". It began to be a sheet of opal, the trunks naked and all wet, that's why they were black. The day is short and gloomy, in a word, black autumn.
And now it's not so... All the way around! The whole forest, the bush, the grass in the fields, all in crystal and glass; from the trunk shining in the sun to the very tiny little twig, everything is firmly packed in a glass of clear ice.
It is interesting, of course, unusual, mozhe and beautiful, toko not kind, ominous some beauty... You go into the crystal forest, and there everything is unnaturally tinkling and ringing. This breeze shakes the glass tops, they most of all got the icy rain, that's why they strike and create lifeless ringing sounds. Something crumbles and, falling, flashes blue or pink refraction of the low, sunbeam.
Oaks and elms, maples and spruce still tolerate it steadfastly, but birches and willows and many others are bent under the weight of such elegant armor, they will crack. Sechas the wind, well, nothing, you can not. Thaw is needed, thaw; and then you breeze and breeze, so that you can straighten up and shake off the wood lives from this unnecessary beauty. As much as the misfortunes of the trees: the hurricane is to fall, and everything strong and mature, one young fowls and remains; then the land is unimaginable to burn out moisture, that it is already impossible to survive. Straight, like ours, with people, then one attack, then another... Yes, the beauty of beauty is different, the consequences of the tomm are different.