The landscape gets heavier under the weight of darkness which surrounds me too. The way I’m going is covered with snow. From its two sides there’s only a field and just a bit further some dark little areas of forest stands in twilight. Sometimes, I have the feeling that perhaps the trees move and come to me. They’re running away from my presence, from the road, the gray shadows full of fear. All of a sudden, they stop, raise their attention and then, continue their escape.
In the distance of the road where I go, there’s a red light shimmering.
The little flame is making jumps in every stronger gust of wind. Few more steps in the cracking icy snow and there’s a stone woman standing above me. In her wavy baroque robe and with loving smile on her face she is tending her hands towards the travellers. A woman, a mother and a saintess for many. I feel as if there was a slight kind grin coming up on her face. Traveller’s hand caresses the cold stone. I bend my head for a while. I don’t know why but my thoughts run in the past.
Countless number of questions... An answer doesn’t come instantly but the possibility to ask the question to somebody is warming me up. I appreciate it and continue my way. The shadows repeat. The way winds up to the hill. There are strange noises coming to me from far, it’s scary. Everything looks different in the dark. It’s a different world. A person is alone in himself, there is nothing to observe. It seems as if they were in the sky. It screeches strangely. In a small man’s soul the pictures appear, it‘s a bit frightening. They transform into a whirl of the snickering. And suddenly, they are right above me. I feel as if they were touching me with their wings but it’s not like that. Nicely ordered, one after another in a clear order of reversed one. The longest rope I’ve ever seen in the sky. The feeling of fear is gone. I pass the cemetery walls of the sleeping, and then down the hill.
The record of feeling of something beautiful, an unforgettable moment which hides inside the whole long truth of time. Returns back to the ancestors, people who lived are in us, but we are already blind.
After travelling the countryside, where there are the most beautiful crab apple trees and virgin red apples in hands. Each of them has a completely different flavor depending on where the tree has taken root. The way of life of people, returns to the old, history, with love to traditional renascence and baroque of simple things. Man in the nature, man on the road, man becomes a man. And then, understanding and communion sometimes comes.
2006 /Marie Vránová/