Марсианские хроники
August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains
Overthisranaluminumroachesandironcrickets,andinthehotstillairbutterfliesofdelicateredtissuewaveredamongthesharparomaofanimalspoors!Therewasthesoundlikeagreatmattedyellowhiveofbeeswithinadarkbellows,thelazybumbleofapurringlion.Andtherewasthepatterofokapifeetandthemurmurofafreshjunglerain,likeotherhoofs,fallinguponthesummer-starchedgrass.Nowthewallsdissolvedintodistancesofparchedweed,mileonmile,andwarmendlesssky.Theanimalsdrewawayintothornbrakesandwaterholes.
Itwasthechildren’shour.
Fiveo’clock.Thebathfilledwithclearhotwater.
Six,seven,eighto’clock.Thedinnerdishesmanipulatedlikemagictricks,andinthestudyaclick.Inthemetalstandoppositethehearthwhereafirenowblazedupwarmly,acigarpoppedout,halfaninchofsoftgrayashonit,smoking,waiting.
Nineo’clock.Thebedswarmedtheirhiddencircuits,fornightswerecoolhere.
Nine-five.Avoicespokefromthestudyceiling:
"Mrs.McClellan,whichpoemwouldyoulikethisevening?"
Thehousewassilent.
Thevoicesaidatlast,"Sinceyouexpressnopreference,Ishallselectapoematrandom."Quietmusicrosetobackthevoice."SaraTeasdale.
