Can you return to childhood? Sitting by a campfire in an Indian wigwam, hear again the voices of old friends—yes, even those who are no longer in this world? Gallop across a field on the back of a gray spotted horse? Hear your grandmother’s whisper as she reads a prayer by an icon? Look into the eyes of the girl you once, many years ago, loved so tenderly—can you? Unfortunately, no. Only in a dream. The book "I Dreamed of Childhood" is written based on diaries that the author kept in the mid-1970s, when he was a high-school student.
The impression of playing Indians, of true friends—friendship with whom endures for a lifetime—of the first love, so naïve and so trembling—of the Ryazan village where his great-grandparents were born and where such intoxicating days passed, slipping away childhood moments when, walking beside the horse across a night field, you look into the abyss of the starry sky and marvel at the greatness of the universe.
Contains obscene language.