451 по фаренгейту

           Theyfinishedeatingandputoutthefire. Thedaywasbrighteningallaboutthemasifapinklamphadbeengivenmorewick. Inthetrees,thebirdsthathadflownawaynowcamebackandsettleddown. 

           Montagbeganwalkingandafteramomentfoundthattheothershadfalleninbehindhim,goingnorth. Hewassurprised,andmovedasidetoletGrangerpass,butGrangerlookedathimandnoddedhimon. Montagwentahead. Helookedattheriverandtheskyandtherustingtrackgoingbackdowntowherethefarmslay,wherethebarnsstoodfullofhay,wherealotofpeoplehadwalkedbyinthenightontheirwayfromthecity. Later,inamonthorsixmonths,andcertainlynotmorethanayear,hewouldwalkalonghereagain,alone,andkeeprightongoinguntilhecaughtupwiththepeople. 

           Butnowtherewasalongmorning’swalkuntilnoon,andifthemenweresilentitwasbecausetherewaseverythingtothinkaboutandmuchtoremember. Perhapslaterinthemorning,whenthesunwasupandhadwarmedthem,theywouldbegintotalk,orjustsaythethingstheyremembered,tobesuretheywerethere,tobeabsolutelycertainthatthingsweresafeinthem. Montagfelttheslowstirofwords,theslowsimmer. Andwhenitcametohisturn,whatcouldhesay,whatcouldheofferonadaylikethis,tomakethetripalittleeasier? Toeverythingthereisaseason. Yes.Atimetobreakdown,andatimetobuildup. Yes.Atimetokeepsilenceandatimetospeak. Yes,allthat.Butwhatelse.Whatelse?Something,something... 

           Andoneithersideoftheriverwasthereatreeoflife,whichbaretwelvemanneroffruits,andyieldedherfruiteverymonth;Andtheleavesofthetreewereforthehealingofthenations.