Artek, which we have lost
In winter, and by October, Crimea is empty, gloomy and gloomily, and pulls on sentiment. The sea does not have a cold and practical sense. Just look at him and throw stones at him. The mountains have not gone anywhere, but they are also not called, and they simply disinterestedly decorate the landscape. The smell of southern rich trees with thick leaves, wilted flowers, cypress greenery remained from warm life. We were brought from the station on buses and unloaded below at the gate.