THE TRACK

Today, every village road annihilation of most of the rut - the only point to yesterday's logo. Looking at only a little rut and ponder who stole the years, turn the place where. Those years was the eternal, mutual dependency blending. Once upon a time, intoxicating spring, wildflowers in full bloom; the summer heat, smoke cicadas; golden September, a bumper harvest; cold winter, snow or rain ... ...

Leaned on the track and makes a stroke, such as touching the earth on the cheek. Travel alone along the Village Road, looking for childhood memories, it is flying in the flowers of the butterfly fish out of a juvenile boy turned to follow, tottering on the grass to catch up, call for the introduction of maternal tears behind the moving screen.