May... Rural, potholed road in reddish loamy dust. What's on the right, what's left-last year's weeds. It is evident that the pole did not plow for a year or two.
The road goes, not looping, straight into the distance. But, on the edge of the horizon, one can see a church blackened bell-tower with a demolished onion.
Walking, and slowly approaching the village, he suddenly distinctly introduced: how did someone's mother come out on such a road and peered into the distance whether her son is coming from the front...