With the first day of spring, when the awakening earth puts on its garment of green, and the warm, fragrant air fans our faces and fills our lungs and appears even to penetrate to our hearts, we experience a vague, undefined longing for freedom, for happiness, a desire to run, to wander aimlessly, to breathe in the spring. The previous winter having been unusually severe, this spring feeling was like a form of intoxication in May, as if there were an overabundant supply of sap.
One morning on waking I saw from my window the blue sky glowing in the sun above the neighbouring houses. The canaries hanging in the windows were singing loudly, and so were the servants on every floor; a cheerful noise rose up from the streets, and I went out, my spirits as bright as the day, to go—I did not exactly know where. Everybody I met seemed to be smiling; an air of happiness appeared to pervade everything in the warm light of returning spring. One might almost have said that a breeze of love was blowing through the city, and the sight of the young women whom I saw in the streets in their morning toilets, in the depths of whose eyes there lurked a hidden tenderness, and who walked with languid grace, filled my heart with agitation.
Dear Ben,
Thank you for your letter. It was nice to hear from you!
In your letter you ask me about my school trip to Moscow. Well, I'm writing this letter from Moscow. We are staying at a hotel. We came here yesterday and have already seen a lot of interesting places. It's evening now and my classmates are watching TV. We wanted to go for a walk but it is raining now. Tomorrow is the last day of our trip and we are going to the Tretyakov Gallery.
I need to finish now, but soon I'll write more.
Best wishes,
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