There is no greater sweetness of beginning than the one brought by the new school year, I went to school, I did not go illegally, I fasten myself every autumn on that date and proclaim the beginning of my own new era. That celebration was moved from the sixth of September, when I went to school in 1959, to the first of September, for so many years it is acceptable, even the calculation and measurement of time related to the movement of our planet (a dark grain among grains, whose depth is E. Kotzbek confused) doesn't he suffer from certain imperfections that accumulate like sand accumulates in a kidney?
I have never felt on New Year's Eve that something has ended and that from the next morning I will turn over a new leaf, not to mention the Serbian New Year, two weeks after the big scam, that little, our personal new year, according to the calendar of our old people, is coming. , klekledole, pase Bogumole, how even that couple beaten in secret by the partisans was deflated, and the first day of the new school year shines as it shone a hundred summers ago: from Perlez a bookseller came to Farkaždin, new textbooks, notebooks, exercise books, pencils, cutters, ink, stylus, pens, sketch pads from number two to number five, crayons, brushes, compasses, rulers, triangles, plasticine...
We lived on Tamish until the Transfiguration (which I remembered because of that, the water is transformed, it becomes cold even if the days are still sunny: swimming after that holiday becomes provocative, blasphemous and therefore risky), on the first of May of the following year we will ritually take a bath and then abstain until the twentieth of June, the day of the holiday.
You can start anew only with your last breath, but I start anew every first September, I start I don't know exactly what, but I start: every beginning is difficult.
&
My mulberry got sick, it sprouted by itself right next to the fence that separates the yard into the part where the house, stable, yard, kitchen and sheds are from, well, the economic part, where there is a pen for pigs (which are not there, as there are no horses in the barn and a cow, and it has been paved over with bricks again: eternal white shoes hang in vain on the manger from the ship's moorings, which my grandfather acquired in the Zrenjanin scrapyard and cemented them in concrete so that the strongest bull cannot tear or pull out), where there is another barn and three barns below it, there is also a summer barn, empty of course like this one which has two red doors, one above the other, well, by the very fence that separates nothing from nothing, a mulberry sprouted, I was happy for it like someone who has returned from captivity, mulberry trees were randomly and mercilessly pulled from the streets of Vojvodina in the second half of the 20th century orders of provincial estheticians or biologists, in the craters similar to those when a molar is removed, fruit should have been planted that would bloom for Labor Day and from which only jam, not brandy, could be made, but we, the oldest Vojvodina, did not see that row of fruit trees.
After a month of absence, I open the cap and see the shriveled leaves from afar, they are so sick, they are the same as the cherry leaves (the one that defied all symmetry and looked like a gallows, with a trunk and only one cross branch), maybe there is some kind of spice that would help my dad, I get the last warnings from the botany: the old vine, which until now took care of itself, has not a single cluster for the first time this fall; figs, on the other hand, which I watered whenever I came, are healthy, the harvest is late, but a good harvest will bring between ten and fourteen pieces.
Who would have thought that the trees are also dying: the pear tree is still healthy, but it can no longer live or give birth, it is drying evenly, whole, but there are saplings that, when I cut down the dry tree in the spring, will probably continue that noble vine.
&
On the first evening after returning from the coast and overseas, I go to visit the Škoda, parked vezhlivo in Koče Kapetana in the last legal parking space, alas, an unknown perpetrator crushed the front right brake light, a disgruntled reader walking around with a baseball bat, no, the wing above was hit that red plastic and the whole thing fell to the side, the bumper is intact, which means that I was hit by a vehicle whose bumper was above my bumper just as much as its owner is above me on the social ladder.
I remembered it three years ago. from a car that I didn't even lock, someone stole a distributor cap, a cap and nothing else (he had a radio, Swiss Army knife, cables, battery, etc. at his disposal), I wasn't angry, we belong to the same class, don't we, now I asked my neighbor to immortalize the unfortunate event from three angles. The parking service, I know, is not responsible for vehicles left on its holy land, someone's car burns down, or is stolen, so that public institution cannot compensate everyone, on the other hand, isn't it excessive, and isn't it contrary to what kind of postulate, perhaps also of Roman law, that one contracting party, i.e. The parking service has absolutely no obligation or responsibility towards its partner? Is the money that I give regularly since the introduction of the so-called the zone only protects against spiders and fines? Are they selling pure space, as a philosophical category?
In Njegoševa, the garden of a coffee shop slipped elegantly and quietly from the sidewalk into three parking spaces, the coffee shop probably paid someone for it, but those spaces were already sold to me, and I won't have them until the first snow falls.
