Deep in Heart: Lyrics to a lonely song
More apples than dough! Super creamy apple pie! Cake in minutes!
Beyond the Wall: A Story by Ida Tomshinsky
At first it was a grasshopper or a cricket. I am not completely sued. He just took a fancy to being a cricket. He lived in the back yard by the wall of the house. This house had doors and windows, as the houses usually do. Therefore, you could enter and leave the house by its door. Some of the windows faced south into the garden, while others faced north. But the cricket did not care about it. He thought that there was an enormous wall separating him from another world altogether, and that there was only one window in this wall. On this side of the wall, where sun warmed the cricket in the mornings, there were also ants, lizards, butterflies, bees, birds, and flowers, grass, plants, and trees.
Beyond the wall lived only one person - an older woman that did not know that she is old. She was thinking that she is the same little girl, as many years ago with big green eyes and glasses, glistering back of a ladybug. But the cricket did not care. "If only I had eyes like that!" - the cricket often signed. He often thought of other things, too. He wondered why the woman stopped coming down into the warm, fragrant, buzzing and singing garden where he lived. After all, it was probably very dull beyond the wall. Why? The old woman's eyes were sad, like two big green sugar plums covered with silvery pollen, when she opened the window and looked outside. Plums like this fall to the ground from the branch and burst. It is a very, very sad sight.
Then one day the cricket decided to build a bridge for the woman from the ground to the window-ledge. Of course, it was a long way up to the window-ledge and it would be hard to build such a bridge. The cricket realized that at once. He would have to chirp for a long time, from evening till dawn. But at dawn, when the dew would fall and it would become cool, all his chirps would freeze and form a resonant bridge from the window-ledge down to the ground. Or a staircase. O, yes, a staircase, because his song - tr-r-r, tr-r-r! - was more like a staircase from the door. Because when it was ready, the little old woman could descent it into the backyard.
And that is what he did. He kept up his trilling from dusk till dawn. His staircase came out very well - glistering, transparent, and light greenish. But the little old woman did not come into the backyard. At daytime, the sun was very hot, and the staircase evaporated. At night, the cricket again stayed awake as he placed countless little crystal drops of sound one on top of the other. But the woman still did not come down into the backyard. One day - what a great morning it was! - he saw her. The woman was walking among the plants and flowers and smiling. The cricket spun around, hopped, and chirped, for he was very happy, indeed. So, he wanted to be happy every morning, and he continued to build the stairway every night. And his work was not in vain.
Then the nights became cold and long. One night the cricket fall slipped, fell asleep, and did not wake up, for that morning the sun forgot to rise - winter had come. Days followed by nights; time could not be stopped. He was very kind and sweet, and hardworking. He imagined that the little old woman would walk out of the house through the door and use the staircase into the backyard. There was nothing else he could do for her apart from building a staircase for her. But she did not know that the cricket was building her a transparent staircase with his trills, and her eyes were sometimes like a maybug's shiny and sometimes like big green honey plums dusted with silvery pollen.
Of course he could have told her about this, for he was in fact a plot of her imagination, not a cricket, but a deceased man who found a way to come back as a cricket to take care of his best friend. "But if she knew," - he thought, "I could never be a cricket again. Or I might remain one forever." Why he thought this, only he knew.
When the little old woman was young, her beloved father went away, he turned into a sparrow. Sascha became an angel and turned into a sparrow, an ordinary grey sparrow. In the mornings he would fly high up into the sky, flip and spin, chase the other sparrows and sparrows, peck the soft, sweet seeds from plants and flowers, bathe himself in the warm sand, and fly over to sing the morning chirping songs. But these were only minor things. The most important thing was that Sascha the sparrow would fly up to the window behind which the old woman lived and tap the glass with his beak. When the little old lady heard the tapping and saw the sparrow she would clap her hands, laugh and say: "There will be news from my loved one, a call, or an email..." This was an omen to her.
Sascha was her angel protector. He loved her girl unconditionally, and she felt it and loved him back, spiritually of course. When you love somebody in real life, you can become anything they want to be like a cricket or sparrow. Loving people made themself vanish and come back to look up for the one they love. This is a secret, and we all know that a secret can only be revealed to a friend. It turned out, the cricket had built the crystal imaginary staircase, and the sparrow Sascha tapped at her window to tell the little old lady that even when it is very difficult to grieve and to lose the loved ones, there is a magical secret from the grave places that are connected to the universe and say, "Please live, be strong. Only strong can survive."
Too Soon: Poem
What happened to me?
Dear God, why me?
Believe, disbelieve -
No more me and you.
I cannot believe in it
But this is true.
Tomorrow is not promised to anyone.
You gone, you gone
Too soon,
One afternoon.
It happened like you said
As you wanted to go first.
I am mad,
I am sad -
It happened like you said.
Dear God, thank you for the wonderful gift,
The beautiful gift of life.
I understand, there are seek, weak, and tired
To live and struggle,
But then there are
Days and nights, and bright fire
Of the candle's light.
It highlights yesterday's past,
The present must,
And the future's trust
That you promised to come along me.
The fact is that you always will be
Beside me.
Too soon
One afternoon
You gone,
You are gone.
I am mad,
I am sad -
It happened like you said.
Tomshinsky@2025
Yor are part of my experience,
part of myself.
You have been in every line I have ever read.
You have been in every prospect
I have ever seen since -
on the river,
on the sails of the ships,
on the marshes,
in the clouds,
in the light,
in the darkness,
in the wind,
in the woods,
in the sea,
in the streets.
You have been the embodiment
of every graceful fancy
that my mind has ever become acquainted with.
(Charles Dickens, "Great Expectations,"
pub. December, 1860)
