Summary “Living flame” Nosov
A poppet was lying in the dirty roadside ditch, the color of the mother for the mother of the deceased son was eternal flame of memory about his bright, but short life, a living fire. Major and still pretty face, with a slight, barely marked smile on the swollen childlike lips. flowering poppies, the author uses a variety of artistic means: the color epithets “lit torches with the living, fun flaming in the wind with the tongues of flame,” “translucent scarlet petals.” The unusual metaphors “then broke out with a tremblingly bright fire, then drank thick red, it’s just touching – it’s immediately scorched. “Captivating comparisons” Poppies dazzled their naughty, scorching brightness, and all these Parisian beauties, lion’s eyes and other flower aristocracy faded alongside them. “The life of the flower is fleeting:” For two days the poppies burned violently. The past and the present have united in a small narrative
And the rest has been weeded out. The title of the story is based on an unusual metaphor that characterizes not only the color of the poppy, red as fire, but also the life of a flower that is very fast, like a flame. There were many other familiar and unfamiliar colors. Looking at the overgrown river, barely sopivshuyusya dumb water, Akimych waved woefully: – And even the fishing rods do not unwind! They bring babies in wheelchairs – they will not drive a brow.
The author forces to strive not for an impersonal existence, but for a life full of profound meaning.
The writer, who is also a narrator, takes pictures of a young woman, Aunt Olya, who is no longer young. After returning, he did not recognize the garden. Such as many defenders of the fatherland had in the war years. Well, at night in the whirlpool, and not at all by itself, when
Two days they flared up on the flower-bed “with a trembling-bright fire,” then suddenly “poured a thick purple.”
A light wind was scarcely waving, the sun pierced the translucent scarlet petals with light, causing the poppies to flare up with a tremblingly bright fire, then they poured themselves into a thick crimson. But I still siped secretly a pinch of poppy in the middle of the flower bed. And immediately on a fluffy flower bed without them it became empty. Well, you settle down, live on health. A living flame of flowers symbolizes human memory in it. In place of crumbling flowers rose all the new buds, which soon lit their petals, not letting go to this eternal flame. She remembered the son who died in the war, the pain of which she never left.