How bored the afternoon is feeling lost in the park, slowly dropping her handkerchief, green lace dark and refreshing. Everything is so calm, perhaps a little durment with such a simple fragrance but at the same time so penetrating. There, though in the distance, sounds the whisper of some breeze that gently ruffles the sad leaves of the willow. A small path peeks through the foliage and quickly, but in silence, it slithers away And how bored the afternoon is feeling! sitting in that park, waiting as if in dreams. the arrival of her lover. A lost person on a stroll is whistling like a child, and upon going by the pond he sees a furtive reflection of a flaming layer that the twilight stirs in the wind upon meeting his engagement to kiss the afternoon.

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