I love my house . Usually you come home at night, open the gate , and the whole yard is filled with a mysterious light . After all, each of us is particularly dear to one corner of the earth where you can be himself , to sit under a thick cover of grape leaves , to dream . I looked at the old bark with mangled vines , and it seems to me that this is my childhood and youth are reflected in the ripe berries. Home lives . Smoldering embers in the fireplace, lazily basking cat and purrs . In the yard of my house with walnut branches that bent green canopy over the asphalt track, no , no and yes flew prematurely yellowing leaves . Home - my pain and joy , it gives me amazing creative insights minutes , plunges into the abyss of doubt and frustration, he was my closest friend and patron . For me , as for others , the house - this is our personal memory area of the heart that we have to keep that gives us wise commandments of life , beauty, and moral strength .
