On hare tracks

Long time ago, rifle salvos on duck-dawns died down, and the battered brethren moved together towards the south. Fritters have restrained their ardor and are less likely to respond to your decoy. Dusted off the forest, brightened and seen in all directions. “Autumn cold has died, – as Alexander Sergeevich wrote, – the road freezes through, murmuring, another runs along the stream mill …” Continue reading →