-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Рэй Брэдбери
-
- Вино из одуванчиков
-
- Стр. 13/264
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
golden
tide
,
the
essence
of
this
fine
fair
month
ran
,
then
gushed
from
the
spout
below
,
to
be
crocked
,
skimmed
of
ferment
,
and
bottled
in
clean
ketchup
shakers
,
then
ranked
in
sparkling
rows
in
cellar
gloom
.
Dandelion
wine
.
The
words
were
summer
on
the
tongue
.
The
wine
was
summer
caught
and
stoppered
.
And
now
that
Douglas
knew
,
he
really
knew
he
was
alive
,
and
moved
turning
through
the
world
to
touch
and
see
it
all
,
it
was
only
right
and
proper
that
some
of
his
new
knowledge
,
some
of
this
special
vintage
day
would
be
sealed
away
for
opening
on
a
January
day
with
snow
falling
fast
and
the
sun
unseen
for
weeks
or
months
and
perhaps
some
of
the
miracle
by
then
forgotten
and
in
need
of
renewal
.
Since
this
was
going
to
be
a
summer
of
unguessed
wonders
,
he
wanted
it
all
salvaged
and
labeled
so
that
any
time
he
wished
,
he
might
tiptoe
down
in
this
dank
twilight
and
reach
up
his
fingertips
.
And
there
,
row
upon
row
,
with
the
soft
gleam
of
flowers
opened
at
morning
,
with
the
light
of
this
June
sun
glowing
through
a
faint
skin
of
dust
,
would
stand
the
dandelion
wine
.
Peer
through
it
at
the
wintry
day
—
the
snow
melted
to
grass
,
the
trees
were
reinhabitated
with
bird
,
leaf
,
and
blossoms
like
a
continent
of
butterflies
breathing
on
the
wind
.
And
peering
through
,
color
sky
from
iron
to
blue
.
Hold
summer
in
your
hand
,
pour
summer
in
a
glass
,
a
tiny
glass
of
course
,
the
smallest
tingling
sip
for
children
;
change
the
season
in
your
veins
by
raising
glass
to
lip
and
tilting
summer
in
.
"
Ready
,
now
,
the
rain
barrel
!
"
Nothing
else
in
the
world
would
do
but
the
pure
waters
which
had
been
summoned
from
the
lakes
far
away
and
the
sweet
fields
of
grassy
dew
on
early
morning
,
lifted
to
the
open
sky
,
carried
in
laundered
clusters
nine
hundred
miles
,
brushed
with
wind
,
electrified
with
high
voltage
,
and
condensed
upon
cool
air
.
This
water
,
falling
,
raining
,
gathered
yet
more
of
the
heavens
in
its
crystals
.
Taking
something
of
the
east
wind
and
the
west
wind
and
the
north
wind
and
the
south
,
the
water
made
rain
and
the
rain
,
within
this
hour
of
rituals
,
would
be
well
on
its
way
to
wine
.
Douglas
ran
with
the
dipper
.
He
plunged
it
deep
in
the
rain
barrel
.
"
Here
we
go
!
"
The
water
was
silk
in
the
cup
;
clear
,
faintly
blue
silk
.
It
softened
the
lip
and
the
throat
and
the
heart
,
if
drunk
.
This
water
must
be
carried
in
dipper
and
bucket
to
the
cellar
,
there
to
be
leavened
in
freshets
,
in
mountain
streams
,
upon
the
dandelion
harvest
.
