Cherry Carry

@cherrycarry

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This residence is located in the very center of the city. It is noisy in the evenings because it is the main place for celebrations. But behind that residence, a whole other world opens up. No pathos, no audience. A stone staircase, seemingly going nowhere. But beyond it is a path that leads deep into the depths - like a page of an old diary, where trees instead of letters. The old trunks whisper through the centuries: "We remember when there were no people here, but only the wind"

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I seem to have a new hobby - feeding squirrels. There is a whole bag of nuts on the balcony, which is gradually emptying out This small world with its inhabitants takes all the carriers at the speed of thought - there is you and nature The photos are a little blurry because they are screenshots from a video. It's impossible to take a picture of these little 🐿️

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I live near the sea, but lately I don't feel like going there. I've started to walk in the forest more and more often

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For the first time I visited the other side of the world, saw a completely different culture, unusual buildings for me. But the most interesting thing is the Moon 🌒 (a tiny white dot in the photo)) In my country it is upside down 📍 JA Ocean View Hotel Jumeirah Beach

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Sometimes the night gets especially quiet. Not the kind of quiet that scares you, but the kind that keeps you safe. We drove to a place where we could see no boundaries, only black sky and the whisper of the waves, as if they were the breath of the world. In that darkness was everything: goodbye, presence, infinity. The sea accepted what was most important. It didn't ask questions. It just opened, calmly, like a palm in which to place the most precious thing.

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spring whispers its farewell as the cherry blossoms begin to drift away. a fleeting beauty, here just long enough to remind us how to let go gracefully 📸 captured this morning in the quiet light

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Let's stock up on nuts and go feed the squirrels in the park! I love that my city is so green. This forest is right in the center of town Do you feed the animals?

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In my town, we take great care of the trees. This tree inside began to crumble. Inside, it was reinforced with beams and decorated with such a bear. It is now a landmark in the park

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We are already in full swing getting ready for the summer season. The beach looks like a postcard today: → Snow-white umbrellas are like mushrooms after rain, but instead of rain there is sunshine and delight → Loungers in rows, as if waiting for their star hour (and your appearance) → The wind plays with the waves and whispers something about "all problems are not from here". We're already here - between the sea salt on our lips and the feeling that time has decided to rest Where's your perfect escape from reality?

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The movie is based on true events, the story of a father finding out about his son's addiction to methamphetamine. David Sheff was caught off guard when he learned of his favorite son Nick's addiction. "I didn't think my son could become an addict, but he did." In trying to save his "beautiful boy," Carell's character takes his own journey into a world of hopelessness and belated realization. Upon discovering Nick's diary, he sees the following lines: "What's the problem with one painkiller pill? The problem is that months later you don't remember why you quit." "After the first time, life becomes colorful, no longer black and white, so I lie."

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In the heart of the city is an explosion of tenderness. A tree strewn with pink flowers, as if whispering: "See how easy it is to be beautiful even among concrete." That moment when: → The air smells of spring, not exhausts → Petals swirl like confetti, celebrating life → Even tired city dwellers slow down their steps I love spring so much for these little revolutions - when nature reminds us that her laws are stronger than any development plans Where have you noticed spring today?

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I feel like there's no need to fold. My cat totally captures my mood after an active weekend 😼

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I don't feel like writing any smart thoughts The real summer has arrived in our city!

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A foreign city at night. Neon brushstrokes on skyscraper canvases. The 44th floor hums with live music and clinking glasses — a symphony of transience On the railing: an ashtray of cigarette butts Ash — the ghost of moments you can’t reclaim City lights — pulsating with promises of a thousand more nights like this And in between? Me. Suspended where ephemeral meets eternal

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Sunset over the sea. Sand still warm from the sun, water turned to liquid gold—as if the horizon itself is melting A lilac branch at the shore’s edge. Its purple blooms are nature’s postscript to the day, where earth and sky exchange perfumes A heartbeat separates them. Yet here’s the magic: eternity and ephemeral, side by side

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🌸 Happy Floral Friday! 🌸 Today’s gift from nature: a delicate branch of blush-pink blooms, soft as a spring sunrise. Each petal feels like a whispered promise—that even the smallest beauty can light up an ordinary day. Wishing you a moment as sweet as these flowers. May your weekend bloom with joy! What’s your favorite flower today?

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This paint was made from mummies. Real mummies. And it was called mummy brown. It is written that for its manufacture they mixed crushed remains of mummies with resin and got a universal brown shade. Good thing it wasn't the best quality, and there wasn't an endless supply of mummies, so the last such tube was produced in 1964. Ironically, the Victorians collected mummies as curiosities, but it was considered sacrilege to *process* them. And Burne-Jones' gesture was the first act of ethical redemption in art. Would you use paint from human remains?

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Behold two works by Pre-Raphaelite Edward Burne-Jones. Admire the exquisite brown hues... Until one day, the horrified artist: - Dug a grave in his garden - Buried the paint tube with full ceremony - Planted flowers as a memorial What dark secret did he discover? Why ban this color forever? Take your guesses! The shocking truth tomorrow. P.S.: And the flowers on the grave are painted... they are marigolds, a symbol of the transience of life in the Victorian language of flowers!

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A ghost of childhood summers when: - We hid under lilac branches, counting petals - Raindrops clung to the blooms like liquid sugar - Mom’s laughter tangled with the buzzing bees Now there’s a bank where the alley stood. Concrete smells of nothing. But when spring comes heavy with lilacs, I close my eyes—and for a breath, I’m small again. The world is just that shade of purple, and she’s still here 💜

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Happy Foggy Friday! Fog teaches us patience: even the closest things reveal themselves only when they’re ready

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