The Narev, Ostrolenka Poland

The river, which lay out before me was a memory of untold stories. There was the story of my grandfather who meandered about here years ago, contemplating his escape to who knows where. Then there were the stories of his family who fled this place abruptly from the onslought of a war which would later take their lives. They all walked here and some played and tossed about like the ripling currents which passed through here. I too arrived to this place,shaken by the silence, and the not so still waters which moved swiftly against a subtle breeze. There were children here as well; and for a sudden moment time stopped, and i saw my grandfather once again as a boy playing and perhaps contemplating his next great journey.

Leaves

It did not matter that the last of the leaves would still linger after a long winter. He walked his usual course, until he stumbled upon the leaves and still had managed to recollect a distant memory, somewhere in the crevices of his childhood, where the sword of experience had not yet penetrated his soul. It was always the leaves which brought him back, even now among the concrete earth he walks on and the blistering heat of summer,which have no memory and no soul.