I love to visit Toronto early Sunday Morning. The most comfortable time to be there because of cool air, empty streets, and absolutely no crowd. It is good time for walking around downtown and enjoy the quiet city life. On Sunday all the shops are closed till noon, only some cafes and restaurants which serve breakfast are opened. This is why there are not many people on the streets. Closer to noon the city is filling up by the people and looks like an anthill, then it is time to leave it.
It is only matter of time to make dramatical changes in everything.
Some places save Halloween decorations full year long and they become like a part of environment. The Howell Pumpkin Farm is the place where the Halloween is every single day.
Beautiful morning time. The sun rises pretty early this time of the year. We are almost at the summer solstice.
To make pictures of chicks is not safe. While I tried to make some, Robin-mother attacked me. Then I have to do so through the window.
It would be nice to have such a blue sky over the entire World!
Hard frost and sunshine – a day of pleasure!
You are still drowsy at your leisure –
It’s time, my beauty, ope your eyes!
Let you get free of blissful dreaming,
To meet the North Aurora, deeming
The Star of North, let you arise!
Last eve the blizzard howled angry,
The ghostly sky struck all and sundry,
The vapid moon was scarcely seen
Among dark drear clouds drifting;
Your mood was cheerlessly shifting –
Look now – what a change has been!
Under a bright blue vault of heaven
Like a beautiful carpet, soft and even,
The snow glitters in sunlight;
Transparent woods are soly dark,
The firs through hoarfrost nicely sparkle
And under ice brooks’ torrents slide.
With amber light the entire room
Is being lit up. What a boon
Is a merry crackle of the stove’s flame.
How swell to ponder near a fire!
But listen, wouldn’t we desire
To ride in our open sleigh?
While sliding over morning snow
Be drawn into a run in tow
Of an impatient mare, trotting hard?
And visit fields that now are empty,
And woods – a recent horn of plenty,
The bank too dear to my heart.
A. Pushkin (translated by V. Chistjakov)