Feather for the master of the word - September 21, 1820 - September 21, 2018 - #CCC

Now in Moldova, September 21, 2018, at 6:30 in the morning, the computer woke up with difficulty, like myself, but we have work to do.

I found and photographed this pen yesterday in the forest. I do not know, I liked it. I did not know what to do with this material. I just transferred the photo to the computer.

Today I was sorting through photos and thinking about the topic of today's post. I stopped on these photos of the pen. What can you write about this?

I recently published a post in which I talked about a snow-white feather. They'll throw stones at me, if I start writing about a banal feather again, I thought.

But, thoughts were spinning in my head, I decided not to back down. Let the stones fly in me, but, the feather will become the hero of my post. I have many other photos and ideas, but, I want to try from nothing that looks like this pen, to do something worthwhile.

Just kidding, my friends will not throw stones at me, but I do not want to abuse their trust.

So, what do we have? Pen on a wide sheet. Is it corny? I doubt it. I began to remember everything that is connected with feathers, they made arrows, they decorated headgears, they wrote on paper! And here, I'll take a short pause and continue.

This pen, which lies on a wide sheet, can be called symbolic. Exactly 198 years ago, namely, on September 21, 1820, a young man crossed the Moldovan border. He was lean, curly-haired wolves peeking out from under the hat-cylinder. The sharp features looked even sharper from the fact that he had to screw up his eyes because of the bright sun that shone through the glass of the carriage door. He drove for a long time in the carriage along the dusty roads and his coat was pretty dusty. The carriage stopped in Chisinau.

The door opened and a young man came out of the carriage, with great difficulty, about which I began my story. He went out, curved his back, she was very tired after a long journey and he said: Chisinau, it's stuffy here!

It was Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin - a poet of the classic of world literature. Then, very few people knew him, he turned 21, but, he just did what he likes, wrote poetry

Pushkin was exiled from Russia for poems that were unsuitable for the Russian Tsar Alexander the first. More precisely, it was not an expulsion, it was a lengthy commando.

It's funny, I'm also in a long-term business trip in Moldova, for more than six years, but, I did not start writing poetry. I said that he came to Moldova, but, that's not entirely true. In the days of Pushkin, Moldova was a Russian province and was called Basarabia.

In Moldova, Pushkin began to write a poetic novel by Eugene Onegin and wrote a poem of - the Gypsies!

He wrote these works with such a bird's feather!

He wrote his works with a simple, unsightly, bird feather, because of which, in me, can fly friendly stones, for the fact that the feathers in my blog is getting too much. Smiley!

The tip of the pen was cut at an oblique angle, a small notch was made on the tip of the pen. Then, the pen plunged into ink, and on a sheet of rough paper, magical verses appeared!

I do not believe in chance, you can call it coincidence, but the fact remains, trivial things, such as a bird's feather, can be an inspiration for your posts.

Do not pass by banal and very simple things, they are full of mysteries and revelations!

Photos taken with a Sony Cyber-shot DSC-HX300 camera
Author @barski
Moldova

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