one thousand chirping crickets. Hardly a breeze disturbs. It smells like freshly cut grass. Fine whine the chain goes over the spider while I was working slowly up the Staffelegg. Now and then the sweat drops on the handlebars. "Oh, if it were summer ever," it says in the book of the root children, and I would actually hinauszudehnen these hot, dry days, weeks and months. I forget that the days are getting shorter again, and stand here before me, the road went on and on, higher and higher. The Schenkenberg is beautiful, at certain points I have the feeling that they are really separated. This is changing rapidly in the downhill in the direction Aarau ... but who can, should now take out a piece of summer impressions and wrap it in the memory. As well as - also a children's classic - Frederick the mouse.
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