The story begins in a small village named Cirali, in Turkey. I am 6 years old, and come each year to this place to spend my holidays. Çirali lies in the valley between the mountains. The sea can be reached by foot, by running through citrus plantations. The guest house in which we live is run by a very nice family.
I pass the time with catching small frogs which live in a brook, directly beside the guest house. So each year I come and catch frogs with my friends.
The brook, which must have its origin in the mountains, flows through the whole valley into the sea. It is an enchanted small village. Above in the mountains there are cliffs which burn. I like to be here.
2-3 years go by in which we do not vacation there.
I come back and look forward to the frogs and my friends. I am older of course, but I would like to see where my frogs are now. I come to the brook and to my astonishment it has dried up. In some corners one still sees individual damp places, but aside from that, dry! No frogs, no water. I run to the boss and ask him how that is possible. He answers: It has not been this hot for a long time, the mountain sweats and sweats, but after a while its sweat is used up and the water that animated the river and our brook is missing.
For me that is unbelievably tragic.
I am very sad this summer.
The following summers we still drive there sometimes, I are also older and the brook too.
[Dafne Altun, Frankfurt am Main/Germany]