Saturday, June 4, 2011


A year had passed. And more than that. The first real summer day had come. I came back late from work. The boss, who had become even more bossy, was sleeping. My wife was lying on the coach, watching English crime on the telly. I went out to the veranda. The air was warm and tender. The sky was yellow on the horizon. Far away, there was an airport. Small airplanes went up and down. So far away I couldn`t hear them. Swallows made acrobatic movements high up in the sky. Knobs were flying in front of my face. Happy voices. From the neighbor, one of our few neighbors, who had a party on their own veranda. And the birds up in the threes were singing and singing.

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