Here, unfortunately, all is silent. Everyone did their utmost to revive backpacks, water bottles to fill, and lamprey to buy pork ribs. But not any more. What happened to the beloved under the spring sun walks in the woods or colored? What happened to the summer evenings to watch a starry sky above his head and a mosquito in your beans? What happened to the pruning hooks, saws, machetes? And what happened to the sausages cooked on the fire and the nights in a sleeping bag with ice to the nose? It seems that there are no more. One day someone said panta rei and someone the past does not repeat itself. Perhaps they were right. Too bad. Too bad.
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