Sunspots are swiftly fluttering on the crumbling steps leading somewhere down. Cement dust covers the cement floor in the corners. Various implements are scattered around in disarray. Empty window frames half below the ground level provide a view to the patches of dense grass, partly getting inside, blocking the view to anything except occasional sunbeams jumping inside, illuminating the hollow emptiness of the basement, dancing mockingly around the walls and the floor. A conglomeration of heat and water pipes covered in dust on cobwebs stretches along the wall. Muffled silence inside is contrasting with the chaotic orchestra of summer noises: chirping of birds, buzzing of insects, an occasional whoosh of wind, whispery murmur of ruffled grass, the sound of dancing sunspots. The basement, obscure except for the random bright traces and spots of sunlight, is filled with silence and subdued tranquility. In the corner on the floor lie some papers covered in dust and yellow, rusty stains. The corners of the sheets are crumpled and dirty. It might be assumed that they were thrown here in a hurry by somebody who had just a few seconds to enter the basement, dispose of the papers, and run.
The trace led to the pond, where gorgeous white and black swans with bright red beaks, accentuating the minimalist elegance of their beauty, smoothly skimmed across the surface of water without disturbing it. The economy of their movements made them look reminiscent of exquisite ancient statues, animated by an elaborate mechanism hidden somewhere in the depths of the pond. Dense copses of weeping willows, overgrowing the pond on all sides, shielded the place from the sunlight, and it was submerged in the cool and murky shadows. The shimmering of weeping willows reflected on the smooth surface of the water, giving the pond an appearance of a chasm opening into a slightly darker version of the sky. On the border between water and the edge of a slippery bank consisting of wet clay, dirt, and scruffy patches of grass was visible a large imprint of a shoe on the clay. As if somebody hastily ran along this narrow path between dense shrubs, nettles, and willow trunks and leaped into the water without taking off his shoes. By the size and depth of the imprint, it belonged to somebody massive and big.
Outside the grove, the wide space, merrily lit by the sun, was overgrown by grass, wildflowers, and weeds, their freshness withered by hot middays. Dried grass intermixed with fresh grass added the spicy fragrance of hay to the palette of summer smells. Tiny and bleak chamomiles and clovers interspersed the grass, enmeshed into its mottled tangles. Somewhere it was visible that the grass was trampled upon not long ago. Connecting those spots made apparent that he, who dropped papers in the basement then ran towards the grove, surrounding the pond, making a shortcut through the grass.
