Korduskatse - Mart Trummal

"The rain caught Martin Pehki climbing the mountain along the footpath, panting from the fast pace, excited by the vastness that awaits him. The sun didn't really go behind the clouds when it was already raining heavily, and the drops glistening in the sun cast a happy silver veil over everything, under which the landscape shone transparently. It lasts for a few minutes, but it makes you drenched... Pulling up his collar, Pehk ran towards the trees growing on the mountain ridge. He found a good place to sit under Haralis' toominga, pulled up the sleeves of his jacket and propped a rough trunk against his back. The ground was warm and safe; while drying his face, Pehk felt his heart beating, blood bubbling in his muscles, he felt his own cool hand against the rain-drenched cheeks of the sign - and not afraid of the veins spilling out between the collar, feeling an unexpected pleasure from them, a simple intoxicating knowledge reached him: I am here, as here and as present as possible . /../

For two years, Pehk hadn't written anything and it seemed that it would stay that way. More and more it seemed that the publication of his small collection of stories, the certain popularity that came with it, was a meaningless coincidence. Passable mediocrity in bad times. He himself had realized his poverty, but he had also realized that he could not write better. It was unthinkable to continue the old way, the new ideas he experimented with had burned out one after another. So he had given up resignedly - until he suddenly felt, getting all heated up, that this time he came across something that concerned him. Indeed, perhaps more than he would like.”