It was on a windy morning on October 3, 1895, that the poet Sergei Yesenin was born. Dedicated to his memory and our immersion into autumn…
We live in latitudes where the Earth's climate is quite diverse. Whether we obediently or not, we change our clothes with the arrival of the next season. But the changes in our souls… They are not as easy to notice and change in time as clothes. But they happen to us as invariably as winter, spring, summer, and autumn follow one another.
Of course, each person has their own degree of this dependence, but in most cases, any soul is subject to four states, according to the passing seasons.
– In winter she sleeps deeply, like a baby , covered with a white snow cap.
– In the spring it awakens and with youthful passion it bubbles like meltwater.
– In summer, she basks in the warm sun, aware of her maturity and prosperity.
– And in the fall, like an old man burdened with wisdom, he begins to delve into the meaning of life.
And since it so happens that outside the windows there is once again a light rain and falling leaves, let us allow our soul to grieve. And let us find a helper for it, someone who will give understanding and wisdom.
Leaves are falling, leaves are falling.
The wind moans, long and dull.
Who will make the heart happy?
Who will calm him down, my friend?
Perhaps Yesenin didn't think when he wrote these lines that his piercing, despairing, autumn-wind-like poems could help anyone. But I truly do feel better when I read them.
It's been noted that many “autumn-born” individuals have a very strong, sometimes almost pathological, love of nature and an inner wisdom about life, but with a certain sad, emotional angst. And if a talent is born in autumn, then, so to speak, it's only given to them:
The road thought about the red evening,
The rowan bushes are foggier than the depths.
The old woman's hut with her jaw on the threshold
Chews the fragrant crumb of silence.
What a remarkable comparison! And the old hut, shrouded in autumn fog on the outskirts of the village, transformed into a tiny fairytale miniature, autumnally sad but bright.
And our whole life, against the backdrop of the luxury of fading nature, becomes simpler and more understandable.
I really don't want to let go of the warm, cheerful summer, but I have to accept that everything ends, everything passes . Perhaps it's easier to understand this with the vibrant, but no longer lifeless, beauty of nature.
I don’t regret the years wasted in vain,
I don't feel sorry for the soul's lilac blossom.
A fire of red rowan berries burns in the garden,
But he can’t warm anyone…
This rowan bonfire is beautiful, but its flame is only an illusion. And how many of them, burnt-out illusions, are there in our lives… Everything is temporary. Bright, sad, and… invariably temporary .
Who should I feel sorry for? After all, everyone in the world is a wanderer –
He will pass, come in and leave the house again.
The hemp plant dreams of all who have passed away
With a wide moon over the blue pond…
Probably, many will see their own autumnal tossing and turning, experiences and insights in Yesenin’s poems.
Who am I? What am I? Just a dreamer,
Looking for a ring of happiness in the darkness?
I live this life as if by chance,
Along with others on earth.
And God willing, many will understand that everything passes, changes, and repeats itself. And everything is not in vain , and everything is for a reason.
And because I have comprehended
All my life, passing by with a smile,
I say for every moment,
That everything in the world is repeatable.
But perhaps most importantly, after reading Yesenin's poems, experiencing his sorrow and disappointment, you'll suddenly want to live , and not just live—but to the fullest! To breathe deeply, to love, and to accomplish so much.
Psychologists advise that to cure autumn depression, you must first immerse yourself in it and then emerge just as successfully. Well, by reading Yesenin's volume, you can fulfill all these conditions completely unnoticed. Give it a try.
And I will quote this poem in full especially for everyone, so that you can easily and wisely live through this autumn, the coming winter, and your entire subsequent life!
The wind whistles, the silver wind,
In the silky rustle of snow noise.
For the first time I noticed in myself –
I've never thought like that before.
Let there be rotten dampness on the windows,
I don't regret, and I'm not sad.
I still fell in love with this life,
I fell in love with it as if it were at the beginning.
Will a woman look with a quiet smile –
I'm already excited. What shoulders!
Will the troika gallop along the shaky road?
I'm already in it and jumping far away.
Oh, my happiness and all the luck!
Human happiness is loved by the earth.
He who cries even once on earth,
So, luck has passed me by.
You need to live easier, you need to live more simply,
Accepting everything that exists in the world.
That's why, stunned, above the grove
The wind whistles, the silver wind.
