We stop the car—the forest is full of rustlings and noises.
Human sounds are heard—here and there an axe resounds, bonfires crackle.
I stop for a little and go into the forest.
I make my way through the branches—there is a hewn glade around which the thicket stands like a wall.
A covered cart, a camp-fire; all is quiet.
Nothing is heard save the champing of the horses, munching hay.
Around the fire in silence sits a family.
The first thing that meets the eye is the bare feet of the children almost into the fire.
—Good evening, good people!
The appearance of a man at night in the forest, coming from no one knows where, causes no surprise, no curiosity, does not even appear strange.
They don't even look round.