In the village of Reybuzh, just facing the church, stands a two-storeyed house with a stone foundation and an iron roof. In the lower storey the owner himself, Filip Ivanov Kashin, nicknamed Dyudya, l. . .

It was late in the afternoon, and the light was waning. There was a difference in the look of the tree shadows out in the yard. Somewhere in the distance cows were lowing and a little bell was tinklin. . .

I remember as a kid, whenever I caught sight of airplanes flying high in the majestic blue sky scattered with white wisp of clouds. I often wondered what it felt like to be in it and to be a part. . .