Summer

I look out the window—down below, by the foot of the hill, the forest sways noisily, dressed festively: a ruffled wind bends and tears at the bright crowns of blazing-painted maples and aspens. Yellow, gray, and scarlet leaves have been torn off; they whirl in the air, settle onto the blue river water, and write upon it a colorful tale of last summer. In the same way—by words as different in color, as simple and bright—I would like to tell you what this summer made me experience.