Book of fairy tales

And this story was told when travelers stayed overnight in the mountains. The site, covered on both sides by rocks from the wind, sheltered almost a dozen pilgrims, the fire burned brightly and hot, boiled on the coals kettle. At such moments, conversations were replaced by fairy tales, legends, and bikes, lived on their own skin. That evening the story was narrated by a tall woman whose age could not be determined. The winds whitened her hair, hardened her face, and the wrinkles around her eyes spoke only of how much she liked to smile...

In the quiet morning when the sun is just rising in the summer, this room is filled with light as if it were reflected, but so clean and clear that you want to dissolve into it. He gently strokes his face, wraps himself with a weightless feeling of peace, gives a smile, almost happiness. In an hour he disappears, leaves, in the room, even if it is still sunny, but absolutely not so. The day is becoming an ordinary day, containing sorrows, joys, problems and moments of rest. If you don't catch the first ray, you won't feel anything special - light as light, day as day...

If you walk along the path for a long time, which is winding among rocks and hills, and then runs away into the forest, you come to the stream, through which there is no bridge or ford. Not too narrow, but not too wide, it flows along the ravine, and you have to go down to its shores very carefully. Here, the reed grows thinly and the toads in small factories, but the stream itself, rushing along the central channel, is very fast and cold, and the water in it is transparent and so clean that you can see the bottom sprinkled with sand and small pebbles and fish, blowing back and forth...

How do you look into the eyes of your demons, your dragons? Traveling from world to world, I have seen many who have tried to find the very path that would lead to the den of their personal monster. How many hardships fell on such a difficult path, how many times the path changed direction, lost in the woods, fell off among the rocks! It was not easy to find it again, to get over the crevices, to overcome the turbulent mountain rivers, and sometimes the whole seas, and only to find out that the lair was still behind that hill, behind another forest, behind the next corner...

Awakening worlds bring many stories, all sorts of sad and funny, disturbing, even scary, and soft as soufflés, mysterious and quite simple, in which there is no drop of mystery. Listening to them, I sometimes imagine them interweaving melodies, ringing, shaking in the wind. Sometimes these stories leave bells that can be hung on a tree in the garden. On a windy day, they all ring a bell, and it even seems that this sound is so powerful that somewhere in the world the sea will be born. But this world was silent...