M ieszkając so high in the mountains and deep in the woods, missing me terribly sound and smell of working combines freshly cut wheat ... Sometimes it's hard to forget the past years.
Sometimes it's hard to forget about the people, which was to be connected ... Where are the faces? Where are the smiles? Diverged? Blurred? They do not exist? Or maybe he never was? Just as the smell of ripe wheat? Sound like riding a tractor across the field ...
Where are the tender words to the effect that never apart? Where You all are you?