Just behind the village, surrounded by a dense pine tree, is a pond. It is small, but extremely clean and cool. When the sun is shining, thousands of solar sparkles are reflected in it, right, eyes are blind.
Lone pussy-willows that stand near bathe their long yellow-greenish scythes in crystal water. The pond is rich in fish. Our fellow villagers early, when a light mist still hangs over the water, begin to “hunt” for fish. So you hear the tail of a perch or a silver roach flapping over the water here and there.
On the shores of the pond here and there grow thickets of reeds. They also form similarities of islands in the middle of the pond. It is there that wild ducklings hide from the children’s noise during the day. Only sometimes they swim out to walk in clear water, accompanied by a duck mom. It’s funny to watch them, fast and fluffy, stubbornly paddling, as if chasing after one another.
In the evening, when the sun sets over the horizon, the last rays illuminate everything around. And the pond, and the pines, and the reeds seem to flood a bright red light. Everything takes unreal shapes and colors. This is a fascinating, fantastic spectacle. The sun last time, after examining the earth, says goodbye to her until the next morning. Everything, with bated breath, plunges into a violet-dark blue. The night is coming.