"Walking through scorched fields, you don’t take inspiration, only listening to how the evening aspen tree blossoms, you completely realize that the shifted sun allows you to be multi-colored even where the law of color has not yet been established. When you imagine a barely noticeable point through which it is possible to draw three parallels - you diverge in madness, coming from all over the world at the same time. “Hypocrite!” cried the Duchess of Savannah, snapping her finger against her finger, and the centuries-old yew tree, turning inside out with its mouth shot in the thighs, said the word “Wind” ... "