First there was a notice. My dad noticed my mum. Then everything else followed in the rhythm of the moving planets. Neither too slow nor too fast. I didn’t enjoy sleeping very much, on the contrary to listening to the fairytales. Mum was embroidering pusses in boots and patches on the knees of my trousers. It’s challenging to run around wearing clogs. Dad agreed on drawing on the walls. He scratched them for three days later on. There were quests with my brothers to the woods in search of the perfect sticks and climbing the trees. There were also cities built out of the wooden blocks and the postcards hand made with my great grandfather Antoni. There was a lot of love and wise teachers. There was laughter and tears, and lost ways, well, you know, all this visible stall of wonders. And I had to recount it somehow. In the rustling notebooks. Now, silently here. Okruchy Chwil means Crumbs Of Moments. Świat pachnie baśnią – World Smells Of Fairytales, because it does, doesn’t it? I hope something will smile to you here. I really hope so, Wojciech Węgrzyński (read: Voytec Vec-shin-ski, well, more or less, ha, ha, Polish is one of my wonders)