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Quiet Flows the Una
planted with geometrical
precision to form a socialist
star in leaf. This large, foliate
star was home to the nests
of robin redbreasts, that
working class contingent
among the birds – a
Red Army
of uniform appearance that
was far from possessing any
talent in song but composed
an industrious and obedient
youth wing that forever wove
its grey, hanging houses in
those bushy trees, whose
berries had a reddish juice
with a bitter taste.
Still, robins were sweet-
feathered creatures that
always chirped and worked
tirelesslytofurthertheirsmall,
socio-political communities,
creating a secure avian
commune that functioned
according to the principle
from each according to their
abilities, to each according to
their needs.
That really was a
classless society because all
its members had equal rights
like in the hyperborean land
of Sweden.
‘Just you try walking on the
grass!’ Kosta the park warden
would roar in his grey-green
uniform and huge Russian fur
hat, whose circle of shade
could shelter a family with
ten or more children.
‘Even the grass will be red
if the Central Committee
so decides,’ Kosta tried to
scare us, invoking the grand
masonic lodge that ran our
great and powerful State –
and all just because we loved
to walk on the grass and pick
the daisies and star-shaped
dandelions. I was more afraid
of his fur hat than his bony
features, his face with broad
cheekbones and ill-tempered,
grey gimlet eyes that sent a
glare instead of a greeting
when he was officially cross.