Padok padja
The bench of benches

Summary/Abstract: Childhood memories remained naive: I see them the way she, the child did; I work with them in a different way only, and I ruin them, of course, irrepairably. I can see the bench, the bench of benches, painted grass green, with the paint peeling off here and there, as it was hit by rain and snow, I also scrape the paint flakes off with my nails, but it has to be done in such a way that no splinter may run under my nail. Seeing it with my eyes now, I can see it was an old simple bench, two vertical and one horizontal timbers, six nails and that’s it, no decoration, yet the child regarded it an excellent bench and she loved it quietly and firmly, the way only sad children can. Perhaps it was at that time that evening became her favourite part of the day - it was not called sunset or dusk, only evening - and it was stretching longer, spreading as long as the bell was rung, or even a bit further.

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