The hawk, circling lazily in the cloudless sky, seemed to guard the silence of the deserted city outskirts. The evening sun peacefully admired him until, as if reluctantly moving his obedient wings, he rolled aside and disappeared from view. The dry path felt warm. She seemed to enjoy the light steps of Imre. Finally, he visited distant relatives, seemed to have repaid a long-standing debt, and now, satisfied, he was returning to the city. In the dense bushes, small birds fumbled, chirped, cicadas chirped. For some reason it was so joyful and healthy in my soul that I wanted to sing. This rarely happened to Imre due to the elementary lack of hearing.
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