A sketch written on a July evening on the outskirts of the former village of Yazykovo (YazYkovo, accent). On the left, where the bread grows, there was a street. In the 80s, optimization took place and the village was resettled, so I was told. And I came here by chance, when I went for a sketch with Christmas trees. Or maybe not by chance: almost 20 years ago there were hectares of potatoes here, when dad started farming. I remember that the places there were beautiful. So, having arrived for new species, or maybe at the call of nostalgia, I wrote this sketch. It was getting dark quickly and accents and added some elements of his own, after the sketch had dried.