Yesterday afternoon, I went for a bike ride with my niece. We have had this custom of doing bike tours while I am here already for several years. This only happens in the summer, and while we were driving, we talked about our adventures from previous years. Where we drove, where we got stuck in weeds that grew so much that it was impossible to pass, where we fell into the sand with tires or where we stayed until late at night, when the darkness caught us, and we were still far from home, in a forest.
Memories flooded in as we pedalled past forests, meadows and fields. And sometimes I would stop because some long-legged creatures appeared on the side of the road. It was a stork, but alas, when I took out my phone to take a picture of it, it flew away. That is when this photo was taken, which shows practically nothing... There is no stork; it flew away. It is just me, my niece behind me and the bikes.
The road we drove on wasn't always this good. Of course, we ended up in more interesting areas where only dirt roads cut the fields in two.
There is a certain happiness that comes from riding among the crops, warmed by the sun's rays, bearing the fruits of this fertile land. There is also a touch of melancholy. A question came to me - Does Summer remember the people who pass through here every year?
Maybe Summer can remember us for a moment if our bikes leave a mark in the sand this time too, but I am sure even Summer can forget! Many things, if not everything!
Summer can easily forget the cold breath that winter has. Summer can forget what all those grey and gloomy days look like, how the rain can be icy, boring, and not refreshing like in a summer shower. Summer certainly forgets what it is like to see people in coats and warm boots, how smoke comes out of the chimneys of houses, and how puddles become skating rinks.
Summer is able to forget the first frost, the death that will fall upon the leaves of the trees in autumn, and the snowy paths between these same fields in winter.
However, summer can even forget about these crops, about the golden ears of wheat, about the cornfields, about the work of the farmers who come to the fields. The sound of the scythe and songs will be forgotten, as well as the secrets that were told among the wheat.
Summer will also forget the most beautiful greenery with which it is now adorned, the cabin in the distance, and the life of someone who lives within these walls.
Even the most beautiful yellow petals of a sunflower will fall into oblivion, not because they don't deserve to be remembered, but because nature has decreed it so. The flight of a bumblebee, now resting in a sunflower, in those cute flowers that follow the path of the sun during the day... all can be forgotten.
And this golden bale of hay, after the wheat has been cut? Will it be forgotten too?
It certainly will be.
Until Summer makes a new circle next year, awakens some new sunflowers, spreads its gold across wheat and corn fields, and takes care of the storks and herons that will fly back after their journey and spend their summer in the wide fields by the blue river.
