From the author: There are things that take a long time to figure out. And unthinkable questions to which personally found answers are absolutely necessary...You probably wanted to stop time? Don’t drive it away - hurry, hurry! holidays! get married! vacation! summer! holiday! new salary! Namely - to stop, fix, not let it leak? Then you will understand me. My mother is sick. Doesn't get out of bed. She is 87. I do everything that can be done to alleviate her problems. And mom tries not to complain, not to aggravate the mental anguish of her loved ones. But how painful it is to realize that it is precisely the passage of time and age that have made my once strong (omnipotent, as it seemed to me as a child!) mother weak, small, dependent on others... And then I remember Brodsky. ***...The murmur of leaves the color of money, a mosquito's smooth buzzer. The eye is unable to enlarge six by nine those who died, who sprouted with thick grass. However, this is not the first time. "There are children from love. You are now alone in the world. Do you remember the song that I used to sing in the dark? This is a cat, this is a mouse. This is a camp, this is a tower. This is the time that silently kills mom and dad." (Joseph Brodsky, "Performance", excerpt .)And I think about my inner, childish, painful protest: no! don't touch it! at least don’t change my mother... let her remain young and strong... and not get sick... And tears, tears come to my eyes, because I know: the protest will not be heard. Because - “This is time on the sly...” They say that courage is a positive response to the shocks of existence. My mother has always been and remains a courageous person. The loss of her father in the repressions of '37, the fate of the children of the "enemy of the people", and the war, and the post-war years, and many other real difficulties and losses fell on her shoulders. And I learned perseverance from her: to hold on, not to show, not to whine, to look for a way out. But this doesn’t make the pain any less. "This is time on the sly..." So how can we stop it?!! My mother always managed to do a lot. She worked a lot, slept little and cared, cared, cared. I also learned to “stretch” time, to fill the day to the limit with interests, activities, experiments, communication, knowledge. And now I thought: to appreciate, to fill the moment to the brim with your presence - doesn’t it mean to stop, to pause this frantic gallop of minutes , hours, days and years? When filled, the pain associated with loved ones seems to recede, dissolve, and decrease. And in some moments of special involvement and enthusiasm - it retreats altogether. I say to the passing day - Its wind, its emerald And its glowing fire: “I will never forget you. I will not forget your light, nor your shadow, nor your golden spots.” “You’ll forget everything,” the day answered me, “You’ll forget everything, but it’s nice to listen.” And this is Larisa Miller. I love her lines filled with light, and with their help I am strengthened by unhurriedness and - humility... in front of an unstoppable series of changes... We are not living yet And have not begun. We have only outlined the contours with charcoal. We seem to be spinning quietly in a dream And we won’t bother to wake up. the whole air, The days are measured, But it’s as if we’re lost by someone here. We were forgotten in the rain - We didn’t make a word, But it’s as if we’re forever waiting, To be called out. 1991 (From the book “Waiting for Oedipus”) No matter how much you think, you can’t stop time and his running. You can stop yourself - running away from something, and with the presence in every drop of being, fill your heart with love and gratitude. The pain of inevitable losses is softened. Tested.