On Sofia's "Konstantin Velichkov" boulevard, near the metro station, roosters are crowing. I hear them early in the morning when I go to work and it seems to me to be a good sign.
A few days ago I was filling up at a nearby gas station and the gas station attendant shouted – your front right tire is soft. I had to travel about 300 kilometers and I went to a service station across the street, right where the roosters are crowing. The guys looked at the tire, they thought it was complicated and shouted – 100 meters down there is a tire shop, go to them. They didn't ask for money, even though they took the tire off and inspected it.
But while they were looking at it, I heard the roosters and I shouted – are these roosters at your place? – No, at the neighbors'. Most of them were slaughtered because there was a complaint from the neighboring block – they woke them up at the first sound of the roosters.
But there are still some, in the morning I hear at least two voices.
I found it interesting. “Konstantin Velichkov“ is a busy boulevard.
There are always cars, people, trams, a gas station, a 24-hour liquor store, the traffic lights beep every half minute.
Noise – always, non-stop, 24/7.
But the roosters get in the way.
Two or three generations ago, Bulgaria was a rural country.
The crowing of roosters has always heralded the new day. And the rooster, although quite ironic, I don't mean some sports commentators, has always been a symbol of dawn.
It seems a little perverse to me that some citizens want to slaughter roosters because they prevent them from dreaming.
The trams, the shouts on the boulevard, the howling of ambulances and patrol cars don't bother them. The roosters are in their way.
Kukurigu.
I was going to write something about politics, because I'm passionate about it, but there's no need.
Actually, the purpose of this post is different.
At least someone should read Stanislav Stratiev's bright story "The Cherry with Scarlet Hearts."
In most of his works, Stanislav Stratiev, who died more than 20 years ago, is mostly dark.
But this short story is an apotheosis of light, a story about goodness.
Read it.
Few such people are left.
I know most of them.
Take care. Be healthy.
Kukurigu.