I stood on the porch and looked at our little garden in the glow of early summer. Sadiq is not one of those that soothe the soul. The sun lingered there for a short time, so the land was always black and wet. Of the plants were carried out in a corner, only two or three faded hydrangea bush, but I'm not very fond of these flowers. Next door was stuck a few trees, and there heard the cry of a mechanical bird, resembling a crown rattle spring. God knows what kind of bird it was and how she looked, but I called her Clockwork Bird. Every day, winding bird flew here and wound up the spring of our quiet little world.