On some sity, and may be in the one where we live with you, there stood a telephone booth such as a great number. However, do not be in a hurry to judge things by the first impression.
In the frame of this very booth there was a glass, quite extraordinary - magic glass. What has been reflected in it, back will come back, in hundred times will amplify. For example, an evil man comes in the booth and is willing to say foul things - but the number is engaged or nobody takes the receiver at all. So he goes away empty-handed. Another time a pleasant word said - tenfold pleasure answered.
Once a young girl was making a call. She entered sulled but came out radiant, her head raised, her face open, smiling - making the street lighter.
Once a potter was carrying a piece of raw clay. He passed the booth. At home he had little remnant left and made whisfles of it. He dried them in the store, put on amusing scrolls, blouwed into a one - it burst like a saxophone, another gave piano playing, the sound of one more whistle resembled violonchello. Whole the orchestra has turned out! He gave the whistles to the kids in the yard. Now the fun began!
There was that telephone booth and stood to itself. Once a holy terror hit the glass out of malice or foolishness and broke it. After that, true, he could not lift up his hand against anyone.
And the shivers were seattered nearby. A branch of chestnut tree reflected in them - an apple had grown on it - a small and imperceptible one. The sparrows had peeked it all and became multicoloured.
The boys picked up a piece of glass and smoked it, they looked at the sun though it. And the dreams they started seeing after - exactly ready - made tales.
When the yardman was sweeping the shivers the broom broke into blossoming.
Here comes the end of the tale, but the miracles are still happen and happen.
© 1996 Anton Popov,