Today, again the first time in a long time - a sunny day with such power that's before noon was not able to keep me at my desk, so jumped in his wool sweater and ran out of the staircase on the street, sucked greedily gulp of air and the sun blinded his eyes narrowed.
No doubt these were standard conditions on my route through the Lower Town, to the lock, and finally, near the ramparts around the Old Square Wałowego Suburb. For the first time this fall, it was so cold that the saliva spilled by someone on the sidewalk was frozen, the ice mirrors, small puddles strongly reject the splendor of the sun's rays back up. Every hole, every angle and every corner of the street was bathed in light: Łąkowa kiosks in courtyards, gardens before crumbling villas.
It was light as a knife sections, nothing before him hid. There he hid dropping plaster on the garages at the Good or finely polished at the balcony railing Polna or Green. On the back of the Motława sat more anglers than usual, as if they were just waiting for good weather, though, and the fish were waiting for good weather, and as if both parties last an appointment.
near the sluice works, and so stretch a hat on his face and quickly walk away, with a traditional lowland Gate chaos, driving cars, as usual, gathered in the Lower Town and suburbs. You have to resist this natłokowi, climb a bastion of Bison and stamtąd popatrzeć sobie na Biskupią Górkę; nie, lepiej pójść na Plac Wałowy, zajrzeć do Wydziału Rzeźby w Małej Zbrojowni, sprawdzić też, czy stara fontanna zapełniła się już po brzegi butwiejącymi liśćmi (zapełniła się).
I wreszcie droga powrotna przez Rzeźnicką. Czar nagle uleciał. Pozostał jednak za mną, na Placu Wałowym – tam jest jego dom.
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