Golf-club "Pirogovo"
The golf course was not too far, it could be reached in five minutes or so. The rows of lime trees and street lamps that surrounded the path were long and pointed like sharpened pencils arranged at regular intervals from each other. Hordes of inextirpable crickets furiously besieged the trees so that the air trembled with a grinding sound. The grass under the trees near the path was carefully cut, and from sloping roadsides one could see either Azaleas or Rosalias, or a kind of rhododendron randomly planted out. The small flock of starlings was crossing leisurely the lawn from right to left, moving and agitating in a strange manner like quick sand of the desert. The granite steps dropped away downhill drifting apart at the foot, leading to the apple-tree garden with a pond and wooden lanterns to the right, and to the golf course to the left. A summerhouse of inexpressible colours stood on the one edge of the course, a bronze statue of woman playing golf loomed on the other edge. The hill dropped away slowly gathering flickering lights of sparse houses. A dark grove, then a small hill, occasionally water of the private swimming pools glittering under the white light of the lamps. The houses of locals seemed to be hidden amid the trees, in the twilight it was wonderful to contemplate for hours the evening landscape from there as if a golf player who estimated the peculiarities of the golf course. The autumn uncovered its profoundness every day, a mixed forest surrounding the golf course strewed over and over dried-up leaves on the ground. The rains of this September were splendid. Rain streams poured on the fading grass of the course, fine like needles and soft like cotton wool. The rain left behind the smell of wet litter of fallen leaves. And the light struggling through the tree leafage painted speckled patterns on the litter. Birds swooped across the forest path. And only the building of golf club was hovering above the ground, towering in the glory of marvelous peace and quiet. I sat at the table with a glass of water, contemplating the landscape. It seemed to me that the golf club was dissolving in the golf course, demolishing the bounds of the reality. Play of perception was going on.


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