I was able to spend a week in Kiev this month. There was an honest-to-God nightingale in the trees of the old cemetery across the road. The chestnuts and cherries were in bloom and you could smell the sticky new poplar leaves.
I remember stepping off the plane and smelling the rain and flowers and thinking that there isn't a place in the world that feels this way in May. Even the drunks in the park were cheerful. Even the stray dogs drinking from rain puddles were wagging their tails.
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~The beginning is the word and the end is silence. And in between are all the stories. This is one of mine~
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