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| Dense
pink fog was slowly filling up the hollow
of Dolotzo Lake. First rays of morning sun
were touching hills, trees and Russian houses
darkened by age. My village of Shanevo was
waking up slowly. I could hear the creaky
sound of rowlocks, water splashes made by
a lonely fisherman's boat in the Lake. The
rooster is crowing somewhere far away, in
the other village across the Lake. There are
no more roosters in Shanevo I had this dream
so many times. The same dream over and over
again. Sometimes in this dream I'm going back
to old times. Strange animals are wondering
around. Giant trees are hanging over the lake.
Does not look like my village But I know that
this is still my Shanevo. |
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