he had not even been in the garden for a long time now. the empty grotto looked dilapitated; the cluster of stalactites in the corner had collapsed, the little wooden waterwheel lay warped and broken besides the conduit. he thought back to the time when he had sawn it all out and built it up and the fun he had derived from it. it was two years ago- an eternity. he picked up the wheel, bent it back, broke it in two and threw it over the fence. away with the toy, it was all finished with long ago. at that point he remembered his school friend august. it was he who has helped him build the waterwheel and patched up the rabbit hutch. whole afternoons they had played here; shot with catapult , ambushed cats (tsk tsk) erected tents and eaten raw carrots for supper. then the days of serious work had began and august had left school, a year ago now, and had become an apprentice mechanic. he had only shown up on two occasions. he too had no more time, now.

cloud shadows races over the valley; the sun was already sinking towards the mountain ridge. for a moment, hans felt he must throw himself down and weep aloud. but instead he fetched the axe from the shed and swung it through the air with his thin arms and smashed the rabbit hutch to pieces. the splinters flew, the nails bent with a squeak, a small quantity of rotted rabbit food, left over from previous summer came to light. he threw everything away as if by so doing he hoped to kill the longing he still felt for the rabbits and august and all the old childish games.

"now, now, what's going on there?" his father called out from the window. "what are you up to?"

"chopping firewood."

- the prodigy, h.hesse