My hands hold a hot mug of tea with mint and honey.
I wrapped myself in a colorful blanket, made on occasion, from various scraps that had been left by my grandmother once.
I just opened the heavy lid of the chest in the hallway, to put things in order and throw out all the junk, but it turned out that there were many different fabrics, cut off from the once-stitched blouses, skirts, vests, capes and other things.
I even froze a bit, plunging into another time, in another era.
I clearly imagined those women, also warmed by firewood in the stove, and wrapped in shawls and scarves. They wore very different hairstyles, and perfumes with other aromas.
And the conversation, not that the current strange slang, fast, shortened, as if you need to quickly growl to someone at the run.
That conversation is long, volatile, melodic.
It is drunk slowly with hot tea with mint, and it is possible with honey.
So I, warming myself from my great-grandmothers, heard their fairy tales and finished my tea ...