The sunny world permeated the green trees that gathered on the mountainside, as if creating a large multi-colored family. Father walked among the trees and before each stopped, as if he met a friend. In this garden were planted trees of different types: pears, cherries, apple trees, plums, oaks, limes, nuts. A tall, very tall poplar, talking with his leaves with a young, flexible willow. “Every landlord,” said the comrade, “cuts grass near the house for our cattle, and our father planted trees all his life, he will plant a cherry tree in the spring, and in the fall he will get a bush of currant.” You see how much he planted. “
Father walked among the trees, touched them with his hands, feeling their warmth, as if they could tell him something.
After this story, I looked at the garden with different eyes, at different trees in it. They talked to me with the noise of branches, the bark of mighty trunks, the voices of birds. Each tree, as a kind interlocutor, called for my new, surprised, understanding look. I saw my father approaching us, and I thought that he was probably not going between the trees, but between thoughts and memories that he had left for life.
Human memory is a wonderful power. Human memories are very important in our life. The story of the comrade made a great impression on me and forced me to agree with the narrator. After all, it happens in life when you part with a person