It was visible from a distance through the forest corridor: all adorned and joyful, radiating an unusual purity, and even yellowness. I came closer. It was an abandoned field, which no one had plowed for a long time, or planted it with seeds. Now, it was taken over by some not too high plants–some kind of bushes. They instantly gave out a pleasant, slightly bitter floral aroma. ”Yes. It is bittercress.” I just remembered. I read about it once in a botanical book—some kind of weed.

Refreshing wind ran over the live carpet—the whole field started playing, emitting golden waves, which spread all the way up to the shaded from the sun forest wall, creating an amazing contrast between the dark green and bright yellow, “as if a precious cup in a malachite frame.“ Such a comparison passed through my mind. High up in the hot June sky, a black kite was soaring. The heat was foretelling a storm. On the western side of the horizon, a big compound cloud was darkening the sky, heavy with rain. Only at the zenith, the uneven, fast disappearing edges of the clouds were glistening, blinding the world with their liquid silver, and giving out unbearable light. The wind calmed down, and all the bittercress blossoms were moving rapidly, as if performing an exotic dance.

Suddenly, there was an ominous ringing in the air, which would not stop, and a multitude of larks, invisible to the eye, started singing. As if in anticipation of the storm everything started singing-- the flowers, the forest and the field—far away from any human settlements. And then, some warm grey pebbles started falling from the sky, which then got suspended over the golden bushes of the bittercress. Some of the larks were flying right above the field, jumping from one flower to another, and filling the area with an unending chirping. Some other birds, frequently flipping their wings, were moving vertically, and then stayed suspended—four to five meters above the earth—also, loudly glorifying life.

The storm clouds were gathering over the whole sky: in some places, they were bluish-pink, as if feverish form inside. I saw that only a small bluish opening was left above the forest, through which some beams were trying to get to the earth in a straight, wide waterfall of streaks, covering the site with warm, soft light. And then, the dense air, all filled with electricity, was silently overtaken by a snowstorm of alder fuzz, flying all over. Suddenly, a thunder struck somewhere, deafening everything around, and the first big drop of rain loudly splashed over the golden blossoms of the biitercress. In a moment, it started raining. Suddenly, it seemed as if the whole alive nature became free and made a sigh of relief-- that all the plants, trees, birds and animals became happy, glistening in the roughly woven, from thick streaks of water, coat of rain.

Wet as a dog, in the middle of the field covered with fog, and suddenly quiet, as if suppressed by the storm, I was also quietly enjoying the full happiness of a man who once, or twice a year the most, was given the pleasure of seeing and experiencing this unbelievably beautiful natural wonder.