Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Quiet Flows the Una

seething exuberance of the living world. I began to run as hot drops came down on me like big, mother’s tears. My sodden white T-shirt clung to my body. I jumped seething puddles, enjoying the crazy feeling of freedom that filled my chest and spread through myveins. Iwas a land-dwelling dolphin, a flying squirrel, a fiery flamingo pacing across mudflats that smelt pure and pristine. That feeling of freedom blurred my reason and intoxicated me with the raindrops, and I stopped at every flowerwhosepollen the rainhadsmudged, stroked the broad leaves of a plantago, ran my finger down a blade of wild barley and gazed at the molehills evaporating the earth’s abundant warmth. What osmosis! I thought I could fly with

euphoria, like in a dream when I lift off in a sitting position, and simply wave my outstretched hands instead of wings and soon rise up above the ground. I float over the treetops and the roofs of familiar houses, always close to the ground, hoping for a soft landing the moment the enchantment wore off. Except that this now was a dream with my eyes open, a vision on a river island beneath a rainy sky. Not for a second could I see what was to come as I stared at the network of veins on a leaf, still green, that the wind had torn off; as I fingered the oily fin of a grayling; or as I kneaded a lump of red clay fromHumHill inmy hand. Like I say, there were no symbols and signposts towards what was to come. The war year 1992 was far away.

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