Poplars, poplars


Poplar is not an ordinary tree. When they talk about Ukraine or write about it, when they sing Ukrainian songs, there is no such thing that the poplar is not mentioned at the same time. Like birch for Russia, maple for Canada, olive for Greece, and poplar – for Ukraine! Poplars are different: spread, wide, not too slender and tall, thin, graceful… They grow everywhere: in squares, parks, gardens, in the forest, and are especially impressive along the roads! You drive along the road – and on both sides, kik faithful guardians of fields and villages that are visible behind them, lined poplars. These are necessarily slim and stately, as if they understand their role: do not allow strangers to “close” to the object, close them from the wind, soften their greens by road, not always useful and pleasant smells that are inevitable on the motorways. There are poplars and along the railways – defenders of fresh, clean air.

One thing in these trees that everyone does not like is poplar fluff that tickles, strives to get into your eyes and even threatens some – those with allergies. And I like it when poplar fluffy, like a snowball in the summer, rushes in the air, carpet the roads, settle along the curbs. I even feel sorry for these fluffs, when, it happens, they are set on fire, and the light that runs through them, does not seem to me to be cheerful, but a cruel destroyer of light bloom.


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Poplars, poplars