“In the village”
For the past few years, I remember with great trepidation trips to the village.
It was a long time ago. In childhood. It was always summer. It seems I loved to go there. At least I remember that.
This is a special atmosphere. Especially if you live in an old house: whitewashed walls, wooden painted floors, a minimum of furniture and decor, constant creaking, gnashing and singing of crickets from the cellar.
The idea that I will never again have the opportunity to return to the house from childhood memories bothers me. Not in my power to return it. But I can keep warm and vivid memories of him.