From the publisher: The story of a small village, lost high in the mountains, and its few inhabitants, each of whom is a little eccentric, a little grunt, and in each of which real treasures of the spirit are hidden.
From the author: “Grandma said — the closest to heaven are old people and children. Old people because they will soon leave, and children because they have recently arrived. The former have already guessed, and the latter have not yet forgotten how they smell, heaven.
I was small and stupid. She listened with half an ear, turned around. It seemed to me — well, what is so difficult? Heaven smells like air. Sometimes warm, sometimes prickly. Or rain when it rains. Or snow. And in general, vooooon they, very close, stood on tiptoe — and touched. When you live on the edge of a blue gorge, it’s not at all difficult to reach the heavens.
I am no longer small and, probably, no longer stupid. I don’t know how many days I have and whether tomorrow will ever come. But one thing I’m sure for sure — heaven smells like my grandmother’s hands smelled. Freshly baked bread, dried apples and thyme. «
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