ABSTRACT
Kozlov did not like spring. He particularly disliked the first flowering of the season, when pollen settled in the warm air, and the air became sweet to the taste. The winter rains subsided gradually, and in the mornings Kozlov began to notice drops of moisture trembling on the leaves of the grape vines. It must have rained in the night, he thought to himself, anxiously. The sea warmed through after the long winter, and became clear so you could see right to the bottom; right down to the soft, yellow sand, seaweed, and other mysterious substances, unknown to human beings. Each morning young girls would pass Kozlov's house on their way down to the beach. The wind blew up the hems of their cotton dresses, transforming them into colorful, dappled sails. The girls' laughter rang out and Kozlov's heart would ache with pain. His neighbor, Vanya, would call out: "Hey! Hey!" from behind the vine branches, unable to think of anything else to say, and Kozlov could see how red Vanya's face had become, even his ears were aflame.
