The heady wind of spring blew again. The quiet gaiety of the blue twilight, permeated with the coolness of winter, which is living out its last hours.
A holiday of renewal. Leaving, returning, meeting. The mystery of the meeting, played out again. There, in the heights, first blue, then black, then - starry, - amazing hymns are composed that predetermine fate.
Whose - this time?
Who is the Chosen HE and the Chosen SHE?
Shh ... We'll find out soon.
Spring. A new round of the unchanging circle.
No, this time it's different.
The invisible hands of the performers of the Highest Will are already weaving the ordered fabric. The inaudible footsteps of the omnipresent messengers have already sounded nearby. And the place was chosen, and the soil was prepared, and the seed was sown, and the sprout was hatched.
The Spring is special, unique, the only spring - a time of fulfilling hopes, a time of fate and fulfillment of desires, THE TIME of LOVE.
The Mystery of the Meeting, played out in the spaces of an ancient city crowned with golden domes of churches, a city full of attractive power and mystery, is a space ark of a mysterious people, from where “the Russian land came”.
The city of your dominion - but you don't remember. The obliteration is the price of return. This is the condition of the contract.
The letters of fate are intimate ... You clearly see the letters, but you will not be able to grasp the meaning until words are formed from letters, then sentences, and from sentences forms the story.
"And there were three brothers: one named Kyi, the other Shchek and the third Horeb, and their sister Lybid."
The letters of fate are sacred. And the waters of oblivion extinguished the memory... Only the strange attraction of these places: the mountain on which the building of the Academy stands, the Holosiivska Hermitage, a small church in a blue fence, where a funeral service was once performed... Only the strange power of smells is like a blow to bare nerves; and the mystery of names, and the hidden trembling of the heart; suddenly flashed - a familiar landscape, an already heard turn of speech, a painfully familiar face...
- Where could I see you before?
- Nowhere. I haven't seen you anywhere before.
- Maybe you did not notice me?
- No, it can not be. I have a good memory for faces...
Faces... But the face is just a shell, a mask that hides the essence.
I know you.
I cannot pass by...
So, not recognized?.. And the heart? Tell me!
I do not know you. Who are you?
Listen to this melody till the end!..
from novel WANDERER
in Russian http://proza.ru/2018/11/21/975