Ray Bradbury. Lake (№ 462695)

How many years, and what these years do to faces and bodies. When we walked around the city together, I didn’t recognize anyone. There were faces that echoed. Echoes of travel along the mountain slopes. Faces with a smile that remained from the time when school time ended and swings began - hanging, on a metal chain and made of boards. But I was silent. I walked, looked around and was filled with all these memories, like autumn leaves that are collected to be burned.