Olga came to the village, to her long-abandoned nest, to visit her parents. Or rather, their silent marble markers on the hill by the church. To straighten the railing, touch up the little stars, and talk to the wind, which seemed to keep the whisper of their voices.
The autumn air in the settlement of Lesnaya Sloboda was thick, sweet, and searingly cold. It smelled of rotting leaves, smoke from stove pipes, and that special, timeless silence that wraps the soul like a good old blanket. Olga had come here, to the nest she’d left long ago, to visit her parents—or rather, their … Read more