It is sorry me people, never warming the soul at a hunting fire, not hearing the evening song of woodcock in spring, чуфыканья of uttering its mating call black grouse, пересвисты of hazel-hens and uterine roar сохатого in the autumn forest, where air is crystal transparent and fresh. People not going away to morning fog to meet a waking up after the forest sun. That after the long wandering on bogs and wind-fallen trees did not return home with a long-awaited trophy were not sincerely happy from the last meeting with the primordial world of Wild-life.