Вино из одуванчиков

           Tridden’svoiceroseandfell,andadarningneedlesewedalongtheair,stitching,restitchingdesignsbothgoldenandinvisible.Abeesettledinto,flower,hummingandhumming.Thetrolleystoodlikeanenchantedcalliope,simmeringwherethesunfellonit.Thetrolleywasontheirhands,abrasssmell,astheyateripecherries.Thebrightodorofthetrolleyblewfromtheirclothesonthesummerwind.

           Aloonflewoverthesky,crying.

           Somebodyshivered.

           Mr.Triddenworkedonhisgloves."Well,timetogo.Parents’llthinkIstoleyouallforgood."

           Thetrolleywassilentandcooldark,liketheinsideofanice-creamdrugstore.Withasoftgreenrustlingofvelvetbuff,theseatswereturnedbythequietchildrensotheysatwiththeirbackstothesilentlake,thedesertedbandstandandthewoodenplanksthatmadeakindofmusicifyouwalkeddowntheshoreonthemintootherlands.

           Bing!wentthesoftbellunderMr.Tridden’sfootandtheysoaredbackoversun-abandoned,witheredflowermeadows,throughwoods,towardatownthatseemedtocrushthesidesofthetrolleywithbricksandasphaltandwoodwhenMr.Triddenstoppedtoletthechildrenoutinshadystreets.

           CharlieandDouglaswerethelasttostandneartheopenedtongueofthetrolley,thefoldingstep,breathingelectricity,watchingMr.Tridden’sglovesonthebrasscontrols.

           Douglasranhisfingersonthegreencreekmoss,lookedatthesilver,thebrass,thewinecoloroftheceiling.

           "Well...solongagain,Mr.Tridden."

           "Good-by,boys."

           "Seeyouaround,Mr.Tridden."