⏱ ~3 min reading
It was a hot summer. Tarasik and his friends, Myshko and Solomiya, decided to go to the river. All three of them lived in the same apartment building. All three of them already had their own pack of shorts, a towel, and a bottle of water.
They walked — across the bridge, past the meadow where Stepan's neighbor's goats grazed. The goats looked on indifferently, chewing their grass. The air smelled of dry grass, chamomile, and somewhere — from afar — smoke from someone's bonfire. Grasshoppers chirped. The sun burned the back of their heads.
"I'll go swimming soon," Misha dreamt aloud. "I'll get into the water up to my neck.".
"And I will dive," said Solomiya. "Like a fish.".
Tarasyk walked ahead. He imagined how the cold water would wrap around his legs.
When they reached the shore, it was quiet. The first thing Tarasyk saw was a plastic bottle. Orange. Lying on the sand. The second was a bag of chips. The third was a paper plate with dried salad remains. Then there were bottles, bags, an old napkin, a plastic bag, which the wind was quietly stirring.
Solomiya put down her bag.
— Oh.
“Who is this?” asked Misha.
Tarasyk was silent. He looked at the river. The water was transparent, with reflections of the sun. But the shore was foreign.
"I don't want to swim here," Solomiya said quietly. "I'll step on the glass.".
Tarasik took a step. He picked up an orange bottle from the sand. He turned it over in his hands.
— Does anyone have any packages?
Solomiya took one out — her mother had put it in for wet swimsuits.
"Not enough. I'll run home. I'll bring the bags. You start.".
Tarasik ran. Across the meadow, over the bridge. At home, his mother was surprised.
— Tarasik, what happened?
"Mom, give me some big bags. Lots of them. We're cleaning up on the river.".
Mom gave me some. And rubber gloves—three pairs. She kissed me on the top of my head.
— I am proud of you.
When he came running back, Misha and Solomiya had already gathered a small pile. About twenty bottles.
They began serious work. They put on gloves. They walked along the shoreline — slowly, like mushroom pickers. Only they weren't picking mushrooms.
Solomiya found an old bowl. Misha found a fishing hook.
"Tarasis! Don't step on it. Hook.".
Tarasyk carefully picked it up with a stick and placed it in a separate bottle so that no one would get cut.
They walked for a long time. The sun crept from one side of the sky to the other. Their hair dried, then they sweated. Solomiya found a bottle in which a dead bug was floating.
— He flew in and didn't get out.
She carefully poured out the water. She placed the bug under a bush, as if she had buried it.
When the bags were full — three large, heavy ones — Tarasik straightened up. The shore was clean. Not completely — there were still some small things left in the grass somewhere. But there was no big garbage. You could see the sand. You could see the pebbles. You could see the bird tracks.
Misha looked at the water.
"Guys. Can we do it now?"
— Yes, you can!
They swam for a long time. The clear water cooled their skin. Tarasik floated on his back, looking up at the blue sky. A dragonfly flew above him - thin, with transparent wings.
When they got out, they lay down on clean sand. On their own. Because they had put work into it.
"Tarasyuk," Solomiya said, closing her eyes. "What if we just left?"
— We would swim. But I would have thought that the shore was dirty.
— And I would step on the glass.
Misha said:
"Next time I'll take the big bags right away. We'll clean up - both our own and other people's.".
They carried three full bags home. It was heavy. They stopped to rest. When they dumped them in a container near their house, Tarasyk straightened up and stretched. His shoulders hurt. But his chest felt light.
Like after a good day.
💡 Clean water is a big job of many small hands.