I remember certain streets, their dusty roads in the summer and worn-out, brick-paved sidewalks, or if I think about autumn, then muddy roads and ditches full of water, so in some parts, the entire street was covered with water. I can't imagine such a street without the noise of geese, bathing and chasing each other in the water, breaking the monotony of an otherwise very quiet street.
I remember those streets in the spring too, when the banks of the ditches turned green and the geese with their goslings pulled up the grass, especially those parts of the street where there was open space (a long wall without windows), where boys and girls played "ladies" with a rag ball.
As I walk through those streets, I only see the old, long-gone houses that were replaced by new, large ones, but those that vanished were warmer, more intimate, and above all, they were my youth, and today, my memories.
Those old houses, with thatched roofs, whitewashed, with small, single-pane, recessed windows, similar to one another, remain in my memory almost like the most beautiful low pearls. The small, recessed windows remind me of the evening before Pentecost, when we adorned them with selena (a herb with long, sword-shaped leaves). It seemed like a modest act, but it filled us with joy and satisfaction. I felt proud when on the first day of Pentecost, I passed through those streets in the morning and saw the decorated windows. We made an effort when decorating to not block the entrance of light through the already small windows, and we did all this in a whisper so we wouldn't wake the homeowners, who, we thought, had long since fallen asleep. Those homeowners sleep in such a way that no one can pass by the house without them hearing it, even in their sleep. They are especially alert when they hear someone "hovering" around their windows. But they know this custom, so they usually remain silent, allowing us to quietly and carefree perform "our task." If the homeowner is a younger man, he might clear his throat and shout — "live long, boys!"
That’s how I remember each house, each street, from where we sent off the wedding procession or where, in the evening before the wedding, I was part of the "feathering," where the girls decorated us with feathers made from special colored paper for this purpose.
When I vividly recall all this, I am overwhelmed with sadness that it is all gone, even though it was so beautiful and warm.
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