Кладбище домашних животных

8

           Totheeast,heavywoodsblockedanyview,butlookingthisway,west,thelandfellawayinagoldenanddozylate-summerdream.Everythingwasstill,hazed,silent.TherewasnotevenanOrincotankeronthehighwaytobreakthequiet.

           Itwastherivervalleytheywerelookinginto,ofcourse;thePenobscot,whereloggershadoncefloatedtheirtimberfromthenortheastdowntoBangorandDerry.ButtheyweresouthofBangorandabitnorthofDerryhere.Theriverflowedwideandpeacefully,asifinitsowndeepdream.LouiscouldmakeoutHampdenandWinterportonthefarside,andoverherehefanciedhecouldtracetheblack,river-parallelingsnakeofRoute15nearlyallthewaytoBucksport.Theylookedovertheriver,itslushhemoftrees,theroads,thefields.ThespireoftheNorthLudlowBaptistChurchpokedthroughonecanopyofoldelms,andtotherighthecouldseethesquarebricksturdinessofEllie’sschool.

           Overhead,whitecloudsmovedslowlytowardahorizonthecoloroffadeddenim.Andeverywherewerethelate-summerfields,usedupattheendofthecycle,dormantbutnotdead,anincredibletawnycolor.

           "Gorgeousistherightword,"Louissaidfinally.

           "TheyusedtocallitProspectHillbackintheolddays,"Judsaid.Heputacigaretteinthecornerofhismouthbutdidnotlightit."There’safewthatstilldo,butnowthatyoungerpeoplehavemovedintotown,it’smostlybeenforgot.Idon’tthinkthere’sverymanypeoplethatevencomeuphere.

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