At last the summer is here, though this year it came slowly. I took a short walk and approached a group of green trees from an angle I hadn't approached in a while. Sunshine, shadows, afternoon, those verdant trees -- they brought back strong memories in my mind, wistful, blissful and aching. Those memories had no tangible content, they were just impressions, feelings, scents, but they went back decades and had a tinge of tens of summers before this, the countryside where I spent my childhood, school time, some girl, even many foreign capitals. They filled my mind, tormenting my heart sweetly. I have tried to capture those feelings in words, in my own language, but it is not possible to capture those feelings, those memories. No one can do it, not even the greatest literature genius of all times could do it.

That's something I have learned. Feelings are feelings, memories are memories, and words are words.