Look, what an autumn! After bathhouse a glass of vodka sweetly goes. I’ll start preparing a firm sledge, not to be caught by heavy snows.
The whole day is whirling in troubles, so that my head is going round – to stain anew the gates and fencing, to chop the firewood I’m bound.
Cooking preserves and drying mushrooms, not to be lost in cold and darkness – and to oblivion ready getting, as to a winter never ending.