The morning of the twentieth of May. There is silence at the railway station. The only sound is the singing of birds. There is a field of sunflowers around. Birch trees cast a shadow on the path. The whole summer is ahead.

Fyodor clumsily tried to keep his balance by jumping onto the platform from the last step of the carriage. Putting the bag beside him, he straightened his clothes and looked around, inhaling the rural air.