"The miracle of nature"
Often in autumn I stared at the falling leaves
to catch that inconspicuous fraction of a second
when the leaf separates from the branch and begins to fallto the ground.
But I could not do it for a long time.
I read in old books about how leaves rustle when they fall.
But I never heard this sound.
If the leaves rustled, then only on the ground, under the feet of a man.
The rustle of leaves in the air seemed to me as unlikely
as the stories that in the spring you can hear how the grass grows.
I was, of course, wrong.
It took time...
that my hearing, stupefied by the gnashing of city streets,
could rest and catch
the very clean and accurate sounds of the autumnal land.
One evening I went out into the garden to the well.
I put a dull kerosene lantern "bat" on the edge of a wooden well and took out water.
The leaves floated in the bucket.
They were everywhere.
From them it was impossible to get rid of anywhere.
Black bread from the bakery was brought with stuck to it wet leaves.
The wind threw handfuls of leaves on the table, on the bunk, on the floor, on the books,
and along the paths of the garden it was difficult:
... it was necessary to walk along the leaves, as in deep snow.
We found leaves in the pockets of our raincoats, in caps, in hair - everywhere.
We slept on them and soaked in their smell.
There are autumn nights, deaf and dumb,
when there is no wind over black the edge of the forest,
and only the guard's hit are heard from the village outskirts.
It was just such a night.
The lantern illuminated a well, ...
the old maple under fence and disheveled bush nasturtium, on the yellowed flowerbed.
I looked at the maple
and saw how carefully
and slowly separated from branches red leaf,
shuddered, for a moment stopped in the air
and slantwise began to fall to my feet,
barely rustling and swaying.
For the first time I heard the rustling of a falling leaf
- an indistinct sound,
like a childish whisper.
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