When I had left the city, I had no thoughts. I enjoyed the wind and the freedom. My moped slowly pushed me towards unknown lands. I was in these places for the first time and delighted. The sky was watching me along with a small flock of crows. I looked back at their home and was delighted, because life gave me the opportunity to be alone with my happiness.
The moped was called Stepan, like my grandfather. Stepan has already driven more than one thousand kilometers, but he pushed me youthfully confident. His throttle grips were completely worn out and still remembered my father’s palms, who passed away last year.
Autumn captivated, fell in love with itself.
I stopped.
Sat down on the road side.
Took out a cigarette, deeply dragged on and put a smile back on my face. Stepan also smiled, although not as sincerely as I did. He was satisfied with this stop and the fact that he has half an hour to cool down, because usually I don’t rest less in the fields.
Thirty kilometers from civilization. People come here three times a year: they sow grain, harvest, and plow. And so in a circle. Like my life. Work, home, Stepan, road, home…
Do I want to change something? Yes, I need winter tires and throttle grips for my iron friend. Everything else suits me.
Especially this infinitely intoxicating autumn smell.
ⓒ Volodymyr Zahnybida
(This text was translated from Ukrainian by my own hand. There may be errors in the text. This is normal, because I do not know English perfectly. The text was published for familiarization with the work. Author’s note)
