Вино из одуванчиков

           Thedoorstoodempty.Thesoundofthetennisshoesfadedinthejungleheat.

           Mr.Sandersonstoodinthesun-blazeddoor,listening.Fromalongtimeago,whenhedreamedasaboy,herememberedthesound.Beautifulcreaturesleapingunderthesky,gonethroughbrush,undertrees,away,andonlythesoftechooftheirrunningleftbehind.

           "Antelopes,"saidMr.Sanderson."Gazelles."

           Hebenttopickuptheboy’sabandonedwintershoes,heavywithforgottenrainsandlong-meltedsnows.Movingoutoftheblazingsun,walkingsoftly,lightly,slowly,heheadedbacktowardcivilization...

           Hebroughtoutayellownickeltablet.HebroughtoutayellowTiconderogapencil.Heopenedthetablet.Helickedthepencil.

           "Tom,"hesaid,"youandyourstatisticsgavemeanidea.I’mgoingtodothesame,keeptrackofthings.Forinstance:yourealizethateverysummerwedothingsoverandoverwedidthewholedarnsummerbefore?"

           "Likewhat,Doug?"

           "Likemakingdandelionwine,likebuyingthesenewtennisshoes,likeshootingoffthefirstfirecrackeroftheyear,likemakinglemonade,likegettingsliversinourfeet,likepickingwildfoxgrapes.Everyyearthesamethings,sameway,nochange,nodifference.That’sonehalfofsummer,Tom."

           "What’stheotherhalf?"