Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Val Votrin

And the people, gathering around the fire in the wake of his departure, would begin guessing how soon, exactly when this “soon” would manifest itself. Beyond the walls, all around the night was upon them, into which the shaman had disappeared. It seemed to them that he was circling close by the house, eavesdropping on their quiet conversations, and snickering. Inside the hearth, the coals glimmered. Reddish reflections flashing on the faces of the seated. Hushed conversation. And then suddenly, out of the mouth of one of the seated, unbidden erupts: “When?” One of the vivid memories of my childhood – late spring. It is as hot as during the summer, but the grass has not yet faded, has not yet transformed into a thicket of stiff, rustling stalks. A veritable sea of tall grass, and I in it, hunting with a miniature bow and arrow after marmots. But the bow is now forgotten – the flight of the ants! One of the hillocks suddenly turns out to be absolutely covered with a churning, silvery-black mass – it is the winged queen ants that have gathered for the long flight, so as to colonize and populate new anthills. The hillock comes to life, hidden by a swarm of insects. Unexpectedly, in a thick cloud, they rise from the earth together as one, and it seems to little young me, that this huge black cloud eclipses the sun. I raise my bow up and send an arrow flying right into the very heart of it. What was it that I hoped to achieve with this? I know that the arrow will fly through the cloud of flying insects


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