Маленькая принцесса
Ram Dass
Generallytheskylightswereclosed;buteveniftheywereproppedopentoadmitair,nooneseemedtocomenearthem.AndthereSarawouldstand,sometimesturningherfaceupwardtothebluewhichseemedsofriendlyandnear—justlikealovelyvaultedceiling—sometimeswatchingthewestandallthewonderfulthingsthathappenedthere:thecloudsmeltingordriftingorwaitingsoftlytobechangedpinkorcrimsonorsnow-whiteorpurpleorpaledove-gray.Sometimestheymadeislandsorgreatmountainsenclosinglakesofdeepturquoise-blue,orliquidamber,orchrysoprase-green;sometimesdarkheadlandsjuttedintostrange,lostseas;sometimesslenderstripsofwonderfullandsjoinedotherwonderfullandstogether.Therewereplaceswhereitseemedthatonecouldrunorclimborstandandwaittoseewhatnextwascoming—until,perhaps,asitallmelted,onecouldfloataway.AtleastitseemedsotoSara,andnothinghadeverbeenquitesobeautifultoherasthethingsshesawasshestoodonthetable—herbodyhalfoutoftheskylight—thesparrowstwitteringwithsunsetsoftnessontheslates.Thesparrowsalwaysseemedtohertotwitterwithasortofsubduedsoftnessjustwhenthesemarvelsweregoingon.
