October is the month
when the living
honor their dead,
each trying to recall
another’s presence—
or long-buried past.
And it was then, in 2017,
that I myself passed
through two
very different
Bohemian towns,
set on opposite sides
of the land.
In Telč, the autumn
found me in a park
at sunrise,
lost in morning mist.
Then, in Chýše,
I walked through a park
much like the one
by the château
where Karel Čapek
once wrote and lived—
the sun already grazing
the evening-softened hills.
Yet in both places—
at two far reaches
of space and time—
I met a flock of children,
and I was struck:
they greeted me
as if they had known me
for a long while—
or longer still.
O how devoutly I cherish
such gestures of remembrance.
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