He walked further into the tall grass, feeling the scratch of summer on his skin. He could almost hear the echo of his own laughter ringing out from the old barn, joined by the voices of friends long gone to the city or the soil. They had been rich with nothing but wooden hoops and imagination.
It truly felt like only yesterday that he sat at his grandfather’s feet, watching the old man’s calloused hands carve stories into wood. He remembered the kitchen filled with the scent of fresh bread and the hearth fire that promised safety against the winter howling outside. Back then, the world ended at the crest of the next hill, and that was enough. Mihai Ciobanu - Copilarie,parca-ai fost mai ieri
Mihai stood at the edge of the old orchard, the scent of crushed mint and sun-warmed dust filling his lungs. If he closed his eyes, he wasn't a man with graying temples; he was a barefoot boy running toward the sound of a distant flute. He walked further into the tall grass, feeling