I Woke Up Almost At Dawn. Outside, The Smoke From The Chimneys Suddenly Turned Pink, As Did The Birches

I woke up almost at dawn. Outside, the smoke from the chimneys suddenly turned pink, as did the birches in the neighboring yard. A delicate pink, January-like color from my old winter dreams.

After ten, at the eleventh hour, I went for a walk. A little snow fell overnight, roads and isolated puddles froze, and the thermometer showed exactly -5°C. I remember falling asleep at night thinking about the rain, about why it suddenly became very quiet outside. The next minute, I heard a strong sound of raindrops on the window and sill, but very soon everything subsided, and, in all likelihood, the rain turned into the sound of falling snow.

I visited a stream in the village of Ugolevshchyna on the way. I found a small ferry made of branches, and almost fell into a swampy place when I wanted to get closer and take a picture of the view. Looking at the other side of the reservoir, I remembered how I jumped along the banks in the spring with the risk of falling into the water, but with the opportunity to find as many marsh kaluzhnitsa as possible, of which there were a lot that season.

A village dog I had known for a long time followed me relentlessly, barking, almost to the very end of the village. I couldn't even look at the abandoned house in solitude for the hundredth time, which is getting worse and worse every month and year… This time, half of the roof collapsed, which made it much more dangerous to be inside. I found plenty of Soviet-era newspapers on the back of torn wallpaper; nothing remarkable. My memories revolved around the moments when I came here on my birthday, and how I liked the door on the back of the dwelling, its safety, «vitality», and colorfulness against the background of dark greenery after the June rain. I think it hasn't changed its position since those days–it's still slightly ajar. However, you can't move her anymore.

January 3, 2025; part one