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the first

The yarmarka (farmer's market) is about to close. Some of the people are already packing up, offering their last bruised tomatoes at half-price to anyone walking past them.  I am wandering, staring at bunches of herbs, at the same old options - cabbage, pepper, potato, garlic, apple, cucumber. But then I see a pile of peas. The season must have come early this year. I buy a kilo, and some mint. I know what is for dinner. We have not had it in eleven months.

At home, I rip the bag open, showing them to V. She stands by the kitchen table, eyes wide. I crack one open, showing her the little rounds inside. She plucks one out, her pinky pointing to the ceiling.
"Try it." I tell her.
She does, but she does not like it.

I pull out a bowl for them. She jumps up and down a few times. V always wants to help in the kitchen. I pull her to my lap, and we begin pulling them out from the shells. She learns quickly, tossing them with a flourish into the bowl, a few cascading to the flo…

Christmas card from Kurskaya

heavy weighs the crown

The First Night

Time

no post this week

rumashki

tiny movements

Cracker Jack

black on black

"None of us are Free"

rocks, coins and angels

Studencheskaya!

the taste of coins

torn

the balcony was open

колготки (tights)

Mexican blankets and clowns

a late birthday in New York

from plastic cups

сорок один (forty one)

Postcards from late summer

jholtei ghorka (the yellow slide)

хлеб (bread)

How I surrendered to Northern Italy

the midnight sun and the white crow

лица жизни (the street of life)

the electro-train from Domodedovo

a wedding

the irony of seeds

позже (later)

The Bubble Boy

leading the donkey into the metro

пертсовка (pertsovka) and the happy worker

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best personal blogs