Electricity From Toy Car Mptor

A clearing in the woods. Green grass, still young and wet with dew, in the hot summer. A bee buzzes at a distance, along with a few fly. A slight rustle of leaves, up among the beeches, and an enveloping silence, like the sun shining on the stems. But something else shines. It is a swarm of lights. Red, yellow, turquoise, pink. You turn on and off at the slightest movement, just move your head a few inches. As the lights of a tiny town at night. But it is full day. Me
are fascinated to watch these fireworks in miniature, captured brilliantly colored and always different, fascinated as a child. It is from this show baby. It has all the taste of the wonder of a dream for the event which was the Christmas tree. Or the discovery of the lights, drawings and strange animals of the forest, made when you were still wearing shorts and knees were always peeled.
I'll stand there spellbound, watching those dots that switch on and off.



It's not like water. Stupid drops of water vapor in the cold of the night and Condensat poggiatosi on the first available surface. Yet there is much magic in this stupid thing. There are brocades of silver filigree inlaid the crystal drops on spider webs. There are pearls of the moon, resting by the fairies, one by one, on the leaves of Alchemilla, whose healing properties are known for their colds. After all, what to expect from the grass of the alchemists?