It is quiet at a forest Karelian cemetery in autumn — only the wind and the setting autumn sun remain… The cemetery festivals have long since thundered away: Semik, Radonitsa, and the parental days — the Russian days of remembrance of the dead. The living will not return now until spring, except if someone dies and a new member is added to the cemetery family.
The dishes left for funeral feasts stand empty; fallen leaves lie in place of food. The dead to the dead.
Autumn. The cemetery dozes. The dead are asleep. What do they dream of? They sleep and dream of new festivals, of fresh offerings, of remembrance from the living kin, of new additions to their number — and of the endless repetition of this cycle, which must never cease.
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