The time has passed.
You are on the Charles Bridge in Prague.
It's a dark warm night.
You can't see a colour.
Only shapes and structures.


Before you cross the bridge...

... you can push the sun back into the sky
to light up the silhouette in front of you
and smell the early morning air in Prague.

... you can concentrate on the sounds below you
and listen to the story of the Vltava river.

... you can feel the memories of this place:

Sometimes we are tied down by memories
and there are no scissors that could cut
through those tough threads.
Or ropes!

You see the bridge there by the House of Artists?
A few steps before that bridge
gendarmes shot a worker dead
who was walking in front of me.

I was only twenty at the time,
but whenever I pass the spot
the memory comes back to me.
It takes me by the hand and together we walk
to the little gate of the Jewish cemetery,
through which I had been running
from their rifles.

The years moved with unsure, tottering step
and I with them.
Years flying
till time stood still.

- [Jaroslav Seifert, a Nobel Prize winning poet borned in Prague] -


... you can look up at the nigh sky and see
an asteroid 7796 Jaracimrman named after
the greatest Czech statistician (n)ever.