Trafika Europe 7 - Ukrainian Prayer

Sweet Darusya

were returning home from Christmas caroling late after midnight when they suddenly froze on the spot, having glanced at the other side of the choppy ice of the Cheremosh. It was so nice there – that it was almost terrifying, the way, perhaps, a weightless soul is before the gates of heaven. White as though woolen snows lay from the top to the bottom as an immovable shroud, sewn just by the black peaks of the silver fir and beech forests, and tattered in patches of warm settlements above which a fragrant smoke curled. And tiny from afar, scattered among the silver, lustrous snows, these dark spots of houses shone now in cheerful Nativity play stars; and between the houses thin strings of carolers and

Malanka celebrators were visible, like laced shepherds’ whips. And Mykhailo and Matronka leaned against each other so closely, that even through their coarse woolen coats you could hear the quickened beating of their hearts – because on that side a men’s carol began to trumpet through a buck’s horn, and fromthis side awomen’s carol rose abruptly in a violin, and suddenly the surrounding mountains shook from both sides with a single “Hey, God grant!” And Mykhailo wanted to fall face down into the snow on the silver hill from that side, where again the horn trumpeted invitingly, like a mature deer at mating time; because nothing else remained in the world besides the timorous, bird-like heart of Matronka

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