TromboneChat

EKATERINOSLAV (now Dnepropetrovsk) had a mild climate, but the air in the steppe seldom stood still. The breeze bent and swayed the grass and rye, which grew high and wild and made the wide plains look like an ocean. I had never seen an ocean, but my father said that the steppe looked like one. It had great power over me. I liked to stand outside in front of the fence and listen to the wind and watch it change the face of the steppe. Inside our peasant-like house I was always in the mood to hear stories about it. Fascinated, I listened to the tales of roaming packs of wild dogs that devoured the cobbler’s son Vanya, of tramps and deserters, of hidden springs and mysterious flowers whose scent put men to sleep, never to awaken again.