Incredibly pleasant summer morning somewhere close to the border with Poland. An ordinary little Byelorussian town with its cattle on the roads, hen clucking in the garden and early getting up people who are used to be hard-working since early childhood.
The sky is so bright blue and the Sun caresses everything so softly that even bees buzz in special pleasant way. But I haven’t yet seen that precious morning because I am sleeping in my bed. My grandfather will come soon and awaken me by improvised exercises and invigorating tickling. I promise him to get up soon and with increasing appetite inhale delicious smell of pancakes that comes from the kitchen and warm smell of summer that by chance has penetrated to the bedroom. One more instant and I am in the garden. How? Certainly, through the ajar window! The grass caresses my feet and I go to eat some raspberries, which smell and taste so appetizing… One, two, three! And I am in the kitchen with a trifle flabbergasted granny and deliciously smelling pancakes which are waiting for me to eat them…
I believe from such marvellous mornings my soul was born…