Antonovka sounds like a girl's name

I open my eyes and feel like I've been here since forever. In this small room, in this state of mind. Tension. I'm waiting for something.
I don't hold any grudge against anybody, cause it seems I've forgotten everything. I often go to my parents' place. Illness and job loss have changed everything up there. We barricade ourselves against the world, we bake apples and worry about each other like we have never done before. Each of us tries to cease being a burden to the rest of the family, though nobody would ever admit it.
September afternoons are full of harsh sunlight, chilly wind and long shadows. In the orchard apples are rotting, the low scent brings weird pleasure. Every week I go with my Mom for a walk through those golden spaces, full of heavy trees and overripe fields, and during this one hour or so, all those stupid matters that bring damage to our lives disappear. There is no money shortage and there is no illness.
And greenery is still strong where the soil is full of groundwater. Hard nettle stems and grass thick as fur.
A cat puts its paw over its eyes and falls asleep, lying on the cobbles.
I don't know any more what was before and I have no clue what is coming. But from among all those things that have fallen upon us, it is the late September hours that seem worth being called reality. Worth attention. Worth our sensitivity, about which I am so worried these days.