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That clear breeze of Ihatovo, the blue sky that even in summer holds a touch of cold at its depths, the beautiful Moriio city adorned with forests, the shimmering waves of grass in the outskirts. And among them, the many people I spent time with: Fazeelo and Rozaalo, the shepherd Miro, children with rosy cheeks, the landlord Temo, Dr. Boggant Destupargo the wildcat, and others. Now, as I think about them in this dark and massive stone building, they all seem like nostalgic blue slides from a lantern of the past wind. Then, with a touch of sentimentality, I shall quietly jot down from May to October of that year in Ihatovo.

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