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.