From the lyrics of this summer Peter Sarukhanov / "New Gazeta" In the evening in August near the Big River, Say on the Volga, Oka and Kama, Where the dull fishermen rustle Yellow reeds, In the backwaters, where are the snags and tops Seem out to the sky with outstretched hands, Where the shores are wild, whirlpools are deep, The villages are inhabited by ancient old people, With white shoes, with cosmas of the color of raw flour, Grinding forever silent windmills, At dusk crawling like unknown