K přátelům – Kačer Jan (2012)

The book is about autumn. The cherry tree outside my window is worn by the wind. The leaves are yellowing, the fresh greenery of summer is a memory. Here and there are the stems of dried, unharvested cherries. The rowan from Vysočina, one of my beloved trees, is entirely reddened, as if ashamed that this year's rowan berries were not as juicy as in other years. The plum tree, which I boldly planted in the linden alley, has defended its place and remains persistently green on this autumn day. There is a sense of melancholy for the summer that has ended, but it is overcome by the joy of the harmony of colors, of the gentle anticipation of winter. The book is about friendship. About the tormenting sadness of departure and the joyful feeling of happiness from the miracle of shared life with those who, although they drift away, will never truly leave. We close our eyes to the speed of fleeing time and, like shining points along the way, we meet friends. We open the book - and on the first page, a dedication: For a taste, A. B. We stretch the hours - a gift from Aunt Puni. A typewriter from Uncle Oldík, the slender handsome man from Tišnov. Hands like my father's, eyes like my mother's. A dreamy and mysterious longing for a woman, babbling in the sandbox with an urgent reminder of daughters and grandchildren, of ancestors. We walk through cities and places. Here they lived, here they live. It rained then, and the snow was white. There are also scents and songs and...