I walk out of the village. In an alley of apple trees I meet my neighbor who is just returning home. The field has been freshly mowed and smells lovely.
It's a summer afternoon, a storm is brewing in the distance, and we have a marvelous view of the Krušné Mountains shrouded in clouds. We talk for a while.
At the first peal of thunder we part ways.

She walked out of the village. In an alley of apple trees she met a neighbor who was just returning home. The field had been freshly mowed and smelled lovely.
It was a summer afternoon, a storm was brewing in the distance, and they had a marvelous view of the Krušné Mountains shrouded in clouds. They talked for a while.
At the first peal of thunder they parted ways.

I look out the window and watch the foggy haze gradually flood the entire village. A similar scene plays out every year at this time, a harbinger of impending autumn.
All that remains in view is the fence, the road and houses are now faint outlines. A dog barks at the end of the village, otherwise there is absolute silence, intensified
by the fog. I feel nostalgic, for no particular reason. I think about how many women like me have looked out of this very same window at the silhouettes
of the neighboring houses.

She looked out the window and watched the foggy haze gradually flood the entire village. A similar scene played out every year at this time, a harbinger of impending autumn.
All that remained in view was the fence, the road and houses were now faint outlines. A dog barked at the end of the village, otherwise there was absolute silence, intensified
by the fog. She felt nostalgic, for no particular reason. She thought about how many women like her have looked out of that very same window at the silhouettes
of the neighboring houses.

My husband gets up early in the morning today, while it's still dark out. He starts a fire in the stove and makes coffee for me too. I hear the front door slam and see
him through the window as he walks out to the garden. The air is damp and a cold wind begins to blow from the mountains. The garden which he enjoys so much must
be readied for the winter. I observe as he carefully walks among the fruit trees.

Her husband got up early in the morning, while it was still dark out. He started a fire in the stove and made coffee for her too. She heard the front door slam and saw
him through the window as he walked out to the garden. The air was damp and a cold wind began to blow from the mountains. The garden which he enjoyed so much
had to be readied for the winter. She observed as he carefully walked among the fruit trees.

In the forest by the village I pick rowan berries. Their fragrance and flavor was indescribable. I set the basket full of berries down on the table in our garden
and ask my daughter to pick the berries off the stem and put them in a bowl. I realize how beautiful it is to observe the hands of a young girl and I wonder
whether this moment will remain etched in the memory of my daughter as it will in mine.

In the forest by the village she picked rowan berries. Their fragrance and flavor was indescribable. She set the basket full of berries down on the table in their garden
and asked her daughter to pick the berries off the stem and put them in a bowl. She realized how beautiful it was to observe the hands of a young girl and wondered
whether this moment would remain etched in the memory of her daughter as it would in hers.

I walk down a path of blooming apple trees and hawthorn. There is no breeze to speak of and the entire landscape is dotted with white flowering treetops
and saturated with their smell. I think back on past springs and try to remember how the places I pass looked fifteen years ago. How many old trees
are no longer here, and how have the rest grown? After a long and harsh winter, the countryside here in the foothills is suddenly sweet and welcoming.

She walked down a path of blooming apple trees and hawthorn. There was no breeze to speak of and the entire landscape was dotted with white flowering treetops
and saturated with their smell. She thought back on past springs and tried to remember how the places she passed had looked fifteen years ago. How many old trees
were no longer here, and how had the rest grown? After a long and harsh winter, the countryside here in the foothills was suddenly sweet and welcoming.

When the forest has no leaves, one can see old trails which are otherwise not visible. During the year, some of these slowly become overgrown. I head down into
the valley with my husband. I hear the sound of running water in the stream near our village and remember how we used to always come here with our daughter,
when she was still little. It occurs to me how important it is for people to connect their memories to a place.

When the forest has no leaves, one can see old trails which are otherwise not visible. During the year, some of these slowly became overgrown. She headed down into
the valley with her husband. She heard the sound of running water in the stream near their village and remembered how they used to always come here with their daughter,
when she was still little. It occured to her how important it was for people to connect their memories to a place.