From the author: From the series “Psychological miniatures”© Copyright: Lidiya Pankova 2, 2011 Certificate of publication No. 21103261944 It was an ordinary spring evening. Ordinary in everything: in the usual bus crush, in a long line at the grocery store... Over the years, everything was verified by her almost minute by minute: twenty minutes for cooking - for herself, in a hurry, an hour and a half watching TV, a shower, half an hour for reading some lady's detective story - already in bed, and sleep, without dreams, without bringing morning freshness and cheerfulness. And then another day, in which the feeling that you were a squirrel in a wheel spinning at an ever-increasing speed had not passed for a long time. But even this became a completely familiar state. In her forties, she did not feel the taste of life , everything seemed gray and everyday. Even on weekends, she “locked” herself in her two-room apartment, justifying this seclusion either by bad weather, then by her health, or by the mass of household chores that had accumulated over the week. Only occasionally, succumbing to her friend’s persuasion, did she go shopping with her, helping her choose the next outfit At the same time, she herself did not experience the desire that often possesses a woman who finds herself in the world of handbags, blouses, boots, the desire to try on, buy, and brag about a successful purchase the next day. She was afraid to change. She was afraid to step out of this vicious circle into another life, filled with a different meaning. She got used to her things, got used to herself as she is now. It seemed to her that it would always be like this. She simply forgot what she was like before. So and today’s day and evening were just one of that same series of dates, weeks, months, years replacing each other... Once she tried to take such a step - away from the route trodden by years. She got married. It all ended in pain for her - in her heart, soul... And fearing a repetition of this pain, she no longer allowed herself to deviate from the usual way of life, in which the days were similar to each other like twin brothers. Approaching the house, she habitually greeted the grannies who had come out to bask in the in the long-awaited warm rays of the sun, she mechanically picked it up from the asphalt and gave the toy she had thrown to the girl sitting on her grandmother’s lap. And suddenly, frightened by her impulse, which was born somewhere in the subconscious, irresistibly strong, she threw the bags on the ground and literally snatched the girl has the toy that was just given to her. It was a kaleidoscope, a forgotten childhood pastime. One glance at the intricately formed pattern in the kaleidoscope was enough to make tears flow from her eyes, but even through them, in a rotating circle, she saw extraordinary, playing in the sun with all the colors and facets, such forgotten pictures from another life...