#kolyadka

[greencheekconure27]

Gerdan Theatre "Ізпрежди Віка"

[that-angry-noldo]

"Ой, грало море" / "The sea was rolling" / "I vaya ui nane quilda"

This is my translation to quenya of one of ukrainian most archaic cosmogonic kolyadkas, which tells about the way the world was created (lyrics in quenya, english and ukrainian under the cut)

Quenya version:

A! I váya ui náne quilda i amaurёan Valanyo (nai Eru tye mánata) ×2

A halla sónё tare enelvayan, (nai Eru tye mánata)

Cucuar neldё hamente i halla sónёsse, (nai Eru tye mánata)

I cucuar neldё osaneante, (nai Eru tye mánata)

Te osaneante o maitié ёá, (nai Eru tye mánata)

A i min cucua tumbane vayan, (nai Eru tye mánata)

Se lennane ondo telepta vayallo, (nai Eru tye mánata)

A i attea cucua tumbane vayan, (nai Eru tye mánata)

Se lennane ondo culuina vayallo, (nai Eru tye mánata)

A i neldea cucua tumbane vayan, (nai Eru tye mánata)

Se lennane ondo tambina vayallo, (nai Eru tye mánata)

English

The sea was rolling on sunday morning, (God help us) ×2

And in between the sea there stood a tall pine-tree, (God help us)

Doves three were sitting on that tall pine-tree, (God help us)

The three doves were advising each other,(God help us)

Advising each other on how to make the world, (God help us)

And the first dove dove into the sea, (God help us)

It brought a rock of silver from the depths of sea, (God help us)

And the second dove dove into the sea, (God help us)

It brought a rock of gold from the depths of sea, (God help us)

And the third dove dove into the sea, (God help us)

It brought a rock of copper from the depths of sea, (God help us)

Ukrainian

Ой грало море в неділю рано.

Дай Боже

Ой грало море в неділю рано.

Дай Боже

А серед моря стоїть сосниця.

Дай Боже

На тій сосниці три голубоньки.

Дай Боже

Три голубоньки радоньку радять.

Дай Боже

Радоньку радять, як світ сновати.

Дай Боже

Що перший голуб в море й упірнав.

Дай Боже

Виніс він з моря золотий камінь.

Дай Боже

Що другий голуб в море й упірнав.

Дай Боже

Виніс він з моря срібляний камінь.

Дай Боже

Що третій голуб в море й упірнав.

Дай Боже

Виніс він з моря мідяний камінь.

Дай Боже

[thoughtportal]

Shchedryk ("Bountiful Evening") is a Ukrainian shchedrivka, or New Year's song, known in English as "The Little Swallow". It tells a story of a swallow flying into a household to proclaim the plentiful and bountiful year that the family will have.[4] The title is derived from the Ukrainian word for "bountiful". The song is based on a traditional folk chant whose language was thought to have magical properties. The original traditional Ukrainian text used a device known as hemiola in the rhythm (alternating the accents within each measure from 3/4 to 6/8 and back again). The chant based on an ostinato four-note pattern within the range of a minor third is thought to be of prehistoric origins and was associated with the coming New Year which in Ukraine before the introduction of Christianity was originally celebrated in April. Conceptually, the Ukrainian lyrics of this song meet the definition of a shchedrivka, while the English content of "The Little Swallow" identifies it as a kolyadka.

With the introduction of Christianity to Ukraine, the celebration of the New Year was moved from April to January and "Shchedryk" became associated with the Feast of Epiphany also known in Ukrainian as Shchedry vechir, January 18 in the Julian calendar. It was originally sung on the night of January 13, New Year's Eve in the Julian Calendar (December 31 Old Style), which is Shchedry Vechir. In modern Ukraine, the song is again sung on the eve of the Julian New Year (January 13).

[operaportugues]

Christmas Eve (Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov) - Frankfurt, 10/dezembro/2021

Deslumbrante ópera completa com legenda em português: vídeo; legenda.

É Natal no vilarejo ucraniano de Dikanka e o ferreiro Wakula está infeliz e apaixonado por Oksana, filha de um proprietário de terras. Ela só quer se casar com ele com a condição de que ele lhe dê os sapatos de ouro da czarina. Enquanto isso, uma bruxa em sua vassoura reúne as estrelas e o diabo rouba a lua - forças demoníacas que tentam impedir essa união romântica. Desesperado, Wakula recorre ao diabo para levá-lo à capital e ajudá-lo a conseguir os sapatos. Será que isso será suficiente para conquistar a mão de Oksana?

Rimsky-Korsakov, prolífico compositor de música exuberantemente melódica, foi também um influente professor que formou toda uma geração de compositores russos, entre eles Prokofiev e Stravinsky. A visão panteísta de Rimsky-Korsakov sobre o mundo, segundo a qual a natureza e o cosmos são animados e têm uma relação próxima e igualitária com os seres humanos, é um aspecto central de suas 15 óperas.

A Noite de Natal de Rimsky-Korsakov é uma representação satírico-realista da vida em um vilarejo ucraniano, combinada com elementos fantásticos e mitológicos. É um banquete de canções natalinas dos aldeões, árias líricas, cenas de bufê e números de dança com interlúdios orquestrais. A relação entre o homem e a natureza, entre o indivíduo e o cosmos está no centro da ópera. O próprio Rimsky-Korsakov escreveu o libreto com base na história homônima de Gogol. Como um panteísta declarado, o compositor via a natureza como uma imagem do divino e, portanto, como algo absolutamente digno de ser preservado. Ele acrescentou elementos mitológicos da crença folclórica pagã; há estrelas dançando no céu e a aparição de deuses do sol de aparência humana. O compositor mostra o significado e a beleza de um cosmos em cujos ritmos biológicos e sazonais os seres humanos estão suspensos - nesta produção, literalmente.

Dirigida por Christof Loy e regida por Sebastian Weigle, esta produção da Noite de Natal ganhou o prêmio OpernWelt de Produção do Ano 2021/22. Esta produção da Oper Frankfurt foi considerada "um tônico sazonal perfeito" pelo Financial Times.

Wikipedia e sinopse

Informações sobre esta produção

Introduction to Christmas Eve (Rimsky-Korsakov)

I'm singing kolyadkas (canções natalinas ucranianas)

The creative team of Christmas Eve

Koliada

Blu-ray

Personagens principais: - Tsarina - Chefe de aldeia - Tschub, um cossaco idoso - Oksana, sua filha - Solocha, uma viúva e, segundo rumores, uma bruxa - Wakula, o ferreiro, seu filho - Panas, um amigo de Chub - Demônio

Sinopse: século 18. O vilarejo de Dikanka, Ucrânia.

Ato I - Véspera de Natal na aldeia ucraniana de Dikanka.

O Diabo resmunga para Solocha sobre seu filho Wakula, um ferreiro devoto que pintou um Diabo timorato na parede da igreja. As pessoas perderam o respeito pelo demônio e seguem as tradições religiosas sem saber por quê, indo de casa em casa cantando canções de natal em troca de presentes. O que aconteceu com o temor de Deus e do Diabo? Há uma nova fofoca: Wakula está apaixonado pela filha de um rico fazendeiro, a bela Oksana, que geralmente rejeita todos os pretendentes. Solocha, que está de olho na riqueza do pai de Oksana, Tschub, e o Diabo querem impedir que seu filho vá ver Oksana. Ela voa em sua vassoura para roubar as estrelas e o Diabo coloca a lua em seu bolso. Eles provocam tempestades de neve no escuro para que as pessoas não consigam encontrar suas próprias casas. Eles também pretendem atrasar as estações: assim, Owsen, o Deus da Primavera, não pode se reunir com Koljada, a virgem, e trazer o solstício para o povo.

Um eclipse lunar está ocorrendo e Tschub, a caminho de um drinque na casa do diácono com seu amigo Panas, se perde. Ele esbarra em Wakula, que está embaixo da janela de Oksana: Wakula persegue Tschub, que decide passar a véspera de Natal com Solocha. Wakula conversa com Oksana, que deixa claro que não está interessada. Quando as meninas da aldeia chegam para levá-la para cantar, ela admira os sapatos novos de sua amiga Odarka. Wakula promete lhe dar sapatos iguais. Mas Oksana insiste para que ele lhe dê sapatos como os que a czarina usa e, então, ela se casará com ele. As meninas zombam de Wakula: ele nunca conseguirá os sapatos da czarina nem se casar com Oksana!

Ato II

Solocha e o demônio, de volta para casa depois de sua missão malsucedida - eles deixaram cair a lua e as estrelas, e Wakula foi ver Oksana - estão ansiosos para passar a noite, quando alguém bate à porta. É o Sr. Prefeito. O Diabo sobe em um saco para esperar até que o visitante vá embora, mas o próximo admirador chega: o diácono. Solocha esconde o prefeito em um saco e começa um jogo de flerte com o clérigo. Mais batidas na porta: é Tschub. O diácono, querendo ou não, deve se esconder em outro saco. Tschub e Solocha estão se divertindo quando outra pessoa bate à porta: O filho de Solocha, Wakula. O único lugar para Tschub se esconder é o grande saco com o diácono dentro. Wakula, surpreso com a bagunça, leva os sacos embora.

As pessoas estão comemorando na praça do vilarejo, mas Wakula não está com vontade de participar, especialmente quando Oksana o ridiculariza publicamente, perguntando se ele foi falar com a czarina sobre seus sapatos. Basta: ele se despede de Oksana e de seus amigos para sempre. Ele sai com apenas um dos sacos, sem saber que o Diabo está lá dentro. Os aldeões atacam os sacos, imaginando que eles contêm deliciosas guloseimas de Natal. Mas, um após o outro, eles encontram o pai de Oksana, o diácono e o prefeito. Agora todos sabem que os três queriam passar a noite com Solocha. Afinal, Solocha deve ser uma bruxa de verdade…

Ato III

Wakula não consegue parar de pensar em Oksana. Se ele pudesse lhe trazer os malditos sapatos da czarina, poderia conquistar seu coração. Ele pergunta ao sinistro Pazjuk onde pode encontrar o Diabo e pedir ajuda. Wakula, ao se virar, percebe que estava carregando o Diabo o tempo todo. Ele brandiu um crucifixo e ordenou que o demônio o levasse até a czarina. Voando pelo ar, Wakula vê a natureza lutando pelo solstício. Os espíritos malignos estão em fúria, a virgem Koljada está procurando seu Deus e amor da primavera. Assim como ele, … e, talvez, Oksana? Wakula chega à corte real e se mistura com uma delegação de cossacos zaporozhianos, que fazem suas súplicas de forma tão prolixa que Wakula toma a palavra e pede à czarina um par de seus sapatos. A czarina, encantada com o jovem sincero, manda trazer seus mais belos sapatos para ele. Ela quase lamenta o fato de Wakula já ter uma namorada… A Virgem Koljada se reúne com o jovem Owsen. O sol nasce, os sinos tocam e as pessoas cantam louvores ao milagre do Natal.

Ato IV - Manhã de Natal.

Oksana se sente culpada pelo fato de Wakula ter feito algo contra si mesmo. Mulheres mal-intencionadas dizem que ele se enforcou, se afogou no lago… Oksana se arrepende amargamente de ter brincado com Wakula, que ela ama. Que alívio quando o ferreiro retorna! Ele pede a mão de Oksana e lhe dá os sapatos da czarina. Ela o abraça e diz que teria se casado com ele de qualquer maneira. A aldeia inteira aparece querendo saber sobre sua maravilhosa jornada. Mas Wakula não revela nada, dizendo que um dia um grande poeta escreverá uma história sobre essa véspera de Natal extraordinária.

[propalahramota]

My fav Ukrainian Christmas carols are the ones that are ridiculously canon-defying fanfics of the Bible

Western Ukraine: Jesus was one of us and he was born in this little village in the mountains right here on the sleigh

Sloboda: Bullshit! I heard he was born in a church in Kyiv and when Mary was done she was like "nice curtains, I'll be taking them with me, thnx"

Central Ukraine: Who cares about Jesus? You know who lives in a pineapple under the sea? Saint Peter! And he created the world out of the ocean floor

[horpyna]

the song is called "Щедрик(Shchedryk)" which comes from the word "щедрий", "generous" in ukrainian. It is a song from the canlendar cycle. It is not about Jesus's birth because it's a song for a completely different purpose. Ukrainians would walk from home to home and sing this songs called "щедрівки (shchedryvkas)" to wish luck, wealth, good harvests and prosperity to the owners. This process (or a ritual if you will) is called "щедрування(shchedruvannya)".

The original song very much goes about a swallow, that wishes more money and goods to the owners of the household, pointing out the fine lambs that were born in their flock.

The song is now associated with Christmas across the world, but shchdryvkas (thus Shchedryk) are usually sung for New Year, in the evening of the December 31 (January 12 old style). This evening is called "Щедрий вечір(Shchedryi vechir)" – literally translated as "the Generouse evening", or Silvester. It's festive and theatrical.

Shchedruvannya live looks like this:

For Christmas, there is a different kind of the calendar cycle songs – "колядки(kolyadkas)". Those are explicitly about Jesus's birth, Mother Mary, Three Kings and The Beacon. The name itself originetes from the pagan fest "Коляда(Kolyada)", which celebrated the birth of the God of the New Sun. The Goddess Kolyada would give birth to the New Sun, after the Old Sun ends it's cycle on the day of Winter Solstice. Kolyadkas would essentially praise the Goddess and her newborn son. After the Christianisation, kolyadkas morphed to praise mother Mary and Jesus Christ, but the name remained unchanged.

Kolyadkas are also sung for households by local youth, "колядники(the kolyadnyks)". The kolyadnyks would go from home to home and sing kolyadkas in exchange for sweets, backed goods, money or other items. The whole process is called "колядування (kolyaduvannya)". They are dressed festivly, carrying a gloving beacon and small verteps (nativity scene).

Kolyadkas are sung in the evening of the December 24 (January 6 old style). This evening is called "Святвечір(Svyatvechir)" or "Святий вечір (Svyatyi vechir)", which is translated literally as the Saint Evening, or Christmas Eve.

(Though they ask for goods during "щедрування(shchedruvannya)" as well. Sometimes this request are directly in the lyrics or the shchedryvkas. Ukrainians have this joke "Turn off the lights, the kolyadnyks/shchedruvalnyks are coming!")

Here is how it looks nowadays.

Shchedryk itself is a folk sond, arranged by the ukrainian composer Mykola Leontovych. Thus the music of the Carol of the Bells is also his. It is an important piece of ukrainian art, as Leontovych himself was murdered in cold blood by the undercover NKVD agent in the wave of repressions against the ukrainian artistic intelligentsia. He pretended to be a passerby who needed a shelter, and Leontovych let him in to stay overnight. NKVD agent shot him in his sleep. All his compositions were destroyed. The fact that Shchedryk survived is a miracle. People began to acknowledge Leontovych as the original author of the music only in the recent years.

In the US Shchedryk was adapted as an English Christmas carol, "Carol of the Bells", by american composer Peter J. Wilhousky, in 1936. But earlier the original Shchedryk was performed abroad by Alexander Koshetz's Ukrainian National Chorus.

Here is Schchedryk's literal translation to English:

And here are the kolyadkas, unfortunately in ukrainian only:

Only good thing about Christmas time is I get to hear carol of the bells all the time but the bad part is I have to act normal like that song doesn’t go hard as fuck

[graveyarddirt]

Traditions, by Līga Kļaviņa

See also: #koliada, #liigaklavina

[snovyda]

Піккардійська терція - Добрий вечір тобі пане господарю 

Starting off with the most wide-spread Christmas carol :)

[tendermiasma]

i'm really curious what music do you like. If you don't mind me asking about that, do you have any favorite bands and / or solo artists? What are your favourite music genres? Is music important to you, does it help you in any way when you work, when you draw something, like a source of inspiration for your artworks, comfortable background noise you like to have to stay focused?

What a fantastic question, I’m so glad you asked because now I have an actual excuse to talk about music instead of randomly barging into the room with a new song I’ve been listening to on loop for six days straight. I wish I was exaggerating but that’s the kind of obsessive I am and we have a good time. I play piano as well because listening isn’t enough— it’s a huge source of joy and inspiration in so many different ways and I have lots of playlists dedicated to different projects. Joy is subjective because 99% of it is sad.

Genres, I love all classical but mostly romantic and baroque. Rachmaninoff is my man and he has tough competition. His work has such a deep, aching melancholy about it that I really connect with and this rare, incredible euphoria that when it opens up it’s so magical. I also listen to a lot of Orthodox chant. It just really does something. I swear I'm trying to keep this short, but if I could only have a few for the rest of my life it would be these:

Souvenir de Florence in D Minor, Op. 70: IV. - Tchaikovsky (especially Borodin Quartet and Academy of St. Martin in the Fields versions)

Elegie in E-Flat Minor, Op. 3, No. 1 - Rachmaninoff

Vespers, Op. 37: VI. - Rachmaninoff

Prelude in G-Minor, Op. 23, No. 5 - Rachmaninoff (there's an actual recording of him on youtube playing this and it's my favorite)

13 Preludes, Op. 32, No. 10 - Rachmaninoff sorry

Rinaldo: Overture - Handel (especially organ versions)

Hungarian Rhapsody No. 16 - Liszt (If you don't like subdued classical please just wait for it)

Romanian Folk Dances - Bela Bartok (favorite recordings Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra and Balazs Solokay)

Thy Ressurection - performed by Monks Choir of Pechersk Monastery

Kolyadka - performed by Monks Choir of Pechersk Monastery

Agni Parthene - performed by Valaam monastic choir

------

General indie picks. I'd die for Manchester Orchestra, Patrick Wolf, Sleeping At Last, and Lord Huron. These in particular with some others:

The Silence - Manchester Orchestra

The Gold - Manchester Orchestra

The Alien - Manchester Orchestra

Teignmouth - Patrick Wolf

Vulture - Patrick Wolf

Overture - Patrick Wolf

Saturn - Sleeping At Last

Uranus - Sleeping At Last

Six - Sleeping At Last

Meet Me in the Woods - Lord Huron

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

The Ghost on the Shore - Lord Huron

Funeral Bell - PHILDEL

Aphelion - Platon Karatev

Elijah - Matthew and the Atlas (acoustic version especially)

Master & a Hound - Gregory Alan Isakov

Drawn to the Blood - Sufjan Stevens

(This Is) The Thing - Sufjan Stevens

Light Years - The National

Tired and Awake - Oliver Riot

On and On - Talos

------

And then last but not least deserves honorable mention. The shanties. The folk. It's a good playlist.

Cuckold Come Out of the Amery - Les Musiciens de Saint-Julien

Pro Ivana Groove - Otava Yo

The Green Cottage - Brendan Begley & Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh

My Son John - Smoky Bastard

South Australia - Smoky Bastard

The Chemical Worker's Song - Great Big Sea

Leave Her Johnny - Colm R. McGuinness

I failed at making this short but hopefully you have new recommendations out of it!

[drakonovisny]

As the Christmas steadily approaches I want to spread information some of you might already be familiar with. It concerns the "Carol of the Bells" that seems to be a famous Christmas carol in the US and other english-speaking countries. This song is Ukrainian in origin and dates way back to pre-christianic period of slavic paganism!

The original Ukrainian song is named "Shchedryk", it tells a story of a swallow who came into a household to sing to the hospodar ("the master") of the house about wealth that will come to him in the following spring. Back then the new year was celebrated in the early spring, with the return of swallows. After christianity "came" to the lands, most of the traditions stayed, with some changes to them, so people began singing "Shchedryk" as a kolyadka ("a carol") to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

The popularized version we all know was written by Mykola Leontovych, a famous Ukrainian composer, in 1916. The English version, known as "Carol of the Bells", was composed in the 1930s by conductor Peter Wilhouski.

Here's an example of how the the original version sounds. (The video inspired me to write this post in the first pace!)

[This video my husband didn't want to upload to TikTok. He's a choir conductor and that's his choir singing. Let's prove to him that these kind of videos can get a lot of likes ❤]

Credit: @ademka_aaa on TikTok (you can support the original video here)

I will leave lyrics and more information under the cut!

Lyrics (all taken from the Wikipedia page):

Ukrainian:

Щедрик щедрик, щедрiвочка,

прилeтiла ластiвочка,

стала собi щебетати,

господаря викликати:

"Вийди, вийди, господарю,

подивися на кошару,

там овечки покотились,

а ягнички народились.

В тебе товар весь хороший,

будеш мати мiрку грошей,

В тебе товар весь хороший,

будеш мати мiрку грошей.

Хоч не грошi, то полова.

В тебе жiнка чорноброва."

Щедрик щедрик, щедрiвочка,

прилeтiла ластiвочка.

Transliteration:

Shchedryk shchedryk, shchedrivochka,

pryletila lastivochka,

stala sobi shchebetaty,

hospodarya vyklykaty:

"Vyydy, vyydy, hospodaryu,

podyvysya na kosharu,

tam ovechky pokotylys’,

a yahnychky narodylys’.

V tebe tovar ves’ khoroshyy,

budesh’ maty mirku hroshey,

V tebe tovar ves’ khoroshyy,

budesh’ maty mirku hroshey.

Khoch ne hroshi, to polova.

V tebe zhinka chornobrova."

Shchedryk shchedryk, shchedrivochka,

pryletila lastivochka.

English translation:

Shchedryk, shchedryk, a shchedrivka [New Year's carol];

A little swallow flew [into the household]

and started to twitter,

to summon the master:

"Come out, come out, O master [of the household],

look at the sheep pen,

there the ewes have yeaned

and the lambkins have been born

Your goods [livestock] are great,

you will have a lot of money, [by selling them].

If not money, then chaff: [from all the grain you will harvest]

you have a dark-eyebrowed [beautiful] wife."

Shchedryk, shchedryk, a shchedrivka,

A little swallow flew.

So as you can see the translated "Carol of the Bells" has almost nothing to do with the original song.

Some more information about the composer Mykola Leontovych and how he created the song rendition (taken and translated from Ukrainian Wikipedia page):

The world-famous rendition of "Shchedryk" belongs to those on which Mykola Leontovych worked almost all his life. Its first edition was written before 1901–1902, the second edition in 1906–1908, the third in 1914, the fourth in 1916, and finally the fifth in 1919.

"Shchedryk" was first performed by the Kyiv University Choir in 1916, when the composer worked in Kyiv, where he led choirs, taught at the Mykola Lysenko Music and Drama School (later the Institute named after him), worked in the music department of the Kyiv Regional Committee and the All-Ukrainian Arts Committee; and led the newly formed state orchestra.

There is no exact information about the origin of "Shchedryk" melody. Anatoliy Zavalnyuk points that the original source of the work belongs to the oldest examples of Ukrainian folklore. According to Anatoliy Ivanytsky, musical forms of such a structure could have existed 12,000 years ago in the Mesolithic era (but, of course, not specifically "Shchedryk" itself, only a similar musical form). According to Valentyna Kuzyk, it is logical to assume that M. Leontovych chose a folklore model familiar from childhood, which exists in Podillya.

On October 5, 1921, "Shchedryk" was first performed at a concert at Carnegie Hall in New York.

The Americans liked the song so much that in 1936, Peter J. Wilhousky, an American of Ukrainian descent who worked for NBC radio, created an English version of the lyrics to "Shchedryk". The song reminded Wilhousky of the bell prelude, and he recorded this image in his poems. Later, the song became entrenched in the musical culture of Western countries under the name "Carol of the Bells".

It's also worth mentioning that Mykola Leontovych's death in 1921 possibly linked to a USSR government conspiracy directed to erase and suppress the rise of Ukrainian culture

All the information above could be found on Wikipedia:

"Shchedryk": English Wiki (not the most reliable), Ukrainian Wiki (you can try and use some browser extension or just copy-paste to a translation system as it has more information);

Mykola Leontovych: English Wiki and Ukrainian Wiki

Please consider donating to Wikipedia!!!!

Also I made some words in the text bolder because this makes it a little easier (for me personally) to read.

Sorry for any mistakes made in the text, english isn't my first language! :)

One more example of "Shchedryk":

Thank you for reading through! I wish you a great Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Winter Solstice/New year's eve! Stay safe!!! ❤❤❤❤

[that-angry-noldo]

i have a free day and i really want to translate ukrainian archaic kolyadka (christmas song) to quenya because i think it would be neat

[witchs-burrow]

I was sketching my Yule postcard ideas and nothing came to mind until it clicked. I remembered how in primary and middle school every winter we would read Kolyadkas (poems for the holiday of, how they called it, Christmas) and about traditions for the holiday. I realized how obviously pagan those traditions were.

Kolyada is a Slavic pagan festival of winter that was later incorporated into Christmas (Wiki). People used to wear costumes of animals and carry around a sun on a pole. They were going from house to house blessing owner’s homes and getting treats or some money in return (basically winter trick or treating). For me it is pretty obvious that it was a Winter solstice festival, because it certainly worships the Sun, but I’m just speculating.

It gets me every time when I realize how many awesome pagan traditions were just adapted by Christianity.

I really want to own our pagan traditions back.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 62: Щeдрик

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 29. Go to previous. Go to next. Ex marks the spot. TWs: Injury and gore, eye trauma, needle projectiles, drug use, fatalities, body horror, explosions, joint gore, lethal scissoring.

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Melancholy couldn’t remember when his day had actually begun. So much had happened already. He’d had several of those this month, it seemed. The thought of ‘the longest night’ stuck with him as they passed Southwest through the Lowell Historical Park. Koliada. Korochun. Summer or winter solstice could both just as easily be upon them. The ritual bathing, the satyriadic dance, of the Unfolding...

His Pip-Boy indicated it was barely still September.

His head was starting to pound.

“Can I... have Berry?” He pressed his luck. “To think straight.”

“Based on my documentation, and based on what you’ve already taken, potential side effects of your taking a Berry Mentat are nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. You’re not attempting the trifecta, now, are you, Sir?”

His face slacked beneath the burlap. Had the Handy really been documenting his Lexington bender? The DIA surveillance habits persisted.

“...Pozhaluysta?” He hadn’t meant to whine.

“Oh, all right. But no more!” It produced the lozenge for him, and presented it with caution. “For the rest of the night. And I mean it.”

He chewed it up rather than sucking on it, with a viscous murmur of gratitude.

Was it time for Mokosh? For Svarog? Tausen’s time was passing as Chernobog approached on foot... No, Equinox may have only just passed, but he could feel the charnel pull ahead. As his mental faculties sharpened, lyric trickled out of him. He couldn’t place what made sense anymore.

“Vyydy, vyydy, hospodaryu... Podyvysya, na kosharu...”

Koledari? ‘Choly-dari? Exhaustion robbed him of tears, so he laughed instead. He could be the swallow, welcoming prosperity in the wake of all this carnage, desperate and futile against a hologram of his faltering lucidity.

He glanced around at his enlisted. Had Berries always lit up the smoky, stygian magenta auras of the living, or was this something wholly new? His head pounded even harder than before. He definitely didn’t remember experiencing this during his Deenwood career.

The Voire Unit passed through the monolithic steles of Kerouac Park, and fire erupted before them. The Furriers spread out, many taking to the channels to cross into Back Central by water, demonstrating strong swimming skill in the twilight. The cars on the bridge into Back Central seemed less so scattered by the entropic chaos of two centuries abandoned, and more so strategically placed to force winding travel. Angel skirted over the crashing spray of multiple Molotovs with a heave, and glided down across the bridge. Once ‘Choly and Angel had crossed, an explosion rang behind them. Angel swiveled around so ‘Choly could see: the volatile overripe nuclear engine of a Chryslus had exploded from the flames. The car had taken out an entire section of the bridge.

The Riverhawk hadn’t made it more than a few dozen yards across. He could see the black cat slapping the steering wheel, and presumably cursing up a storm. The mummy standing in the cargo bed made eye contact with the burlap ghost, before the Pick-R-Up’s driver backed up to find another way in.

‘Choly sagged, truly separated for the moment, and finally noticing it.

Until he would next see his mummy, he focused instead on leading his mummers in his impassioned little kolyadka.

The way it just built up inside him, swelled, and poured out, it was like polishing tarnish off something long discarded inside himself. It came a little too loudly, and a little too strongly. Angel likely interpreted his surge of enthusiasm as a byproduct of the Calmex, the Mentat, or perhaps the combination. They both in their own ways had the effect of nettling his sense of social constructs. It would have concerned him, that Angel wasn’t getting onto him for letting his tongue run as it liked--but in such a state, to him expression was expression, and words were words. The anxiety typical of conforming out of a long-outdated survival habit had distilled into a different survival sense entirely.

He enterprised on the Berries’ unexpected illumination, graced by a moment where the grey matter fog receded a ways. He steadied the Syringer to take aim at three Rust Devils he could make out at a somewhat close range. Each pneumatic plunk of his darts punctuated his tune, unstifled by his focus.

“Pryletila--!”

“Lastivochka--!”

“Stala sobi shchebataty--”

Aim for space between joints. He reloaded with more flechettes, eyeing the sparks he’d drawn out of the Devils’ robotic armor from his first shots. No. Made from robots. Aim for electronic parts.

“Hospodarya--!”

“Vyklykaty--!”

The next clip of flechettes penetrated armor. He whistled low, and patted the air canister of his rifle.

Angel unloaded a length of its submachine clip without warning. ‘Choly could only hear ringing for some time, left to rely on his sight, and his touch-- Oh, god. He glared at his grip on the reins, nearly dropping the Syringer. When had his wrist turned that way? Never mind the thumb and elbow... He’d twisted up inside his wrist brace and reinforced glove, just from wielding the reins and steadying his aim at the same time. Had he been activated? He couldn’t be seeing this all wrong, the claret smoke whipping around him just like all the rest. He didn’t right his grip; Calmex accounted for what little steadiness he sustained. And he smiled inside himself, inside his burlap sack mask, as they came up on the five story Federal-style building once known as the Robert House Charter School.

“Vyydy vyydy... Hospodaryu... Pdoyvysya na kosharu, tam ovechky pokotylys, s yahnychyky narodylys--!”

He had to focus on drawing them from the woodworks... Couldn’t stay still. The carol didn’t only boost his morale. It would put all crosshairs squarely on him, and away from his enlisted, so they could disperse and lay their wire traps. All around him, he could see them working diligently. Barbed tripwires and snares. He smiled broadly through his song.

The Devils were the chaff, all the blessings these ‘Choly-dari could savor. He could hear some of the Furriers humming along. Though they knew his tune, English or otherwise, they mostly no longer knew the words. Those he could hear scripted their tune in affirmation of what they owed this iteration of their Unfolding, what they welcomed into the commune from these wretches.

'Choly doubled over from riding standing saddle, and crumpled atop Angel, who spirited him forward rather than away. Blinking through tears, he couldn’t see smoky silhouettes from the direction of the assault. The pummeling had definitely broken a rib through his orthotic corset.

Golf equipment. Of course. The Devils had to have looted the fairway and not just the clubhouse. They’d either gutted the Golf Green Protectrons, or stolen them in tact. And now, one of their favored forms of ammunition came as high velocity golf balls.

Another volley hailed down on him and Angel, and he forced himself to stand again trying to dodge as much as he could. Two balls got him in the left elbow and knee with a splintering crunch. Between his chem-enhanced reflexes and pain-obliviousness, he recovered one-handed and laughed it off through a slur of saliva.

Then a Rust Devil swept his other leg with a golf club, and he spilled. Hitting the concrete stifled his scream, unable to draw breath.

He patted around for his Syringer on the unlit broken street. The sound of heavy metal-clad footsteps approached him, and he could hear hoarse chuckling echoing inside the Eyebot helmet. The Devil choked up on the club and whisked it about, approaching to square up to ‘Choly’s head much like one would tee up. He couldn’t reach his rifle. He went for the Nagant at his hip instead. The Devil took a Pax Syringe to the eye, through the grate covering the front of the helmet, and keeled backwards with a heavy metallic thud.

It felt strange to the burlap ghost, to observe the weight of Mister Handy shells, when ported by something not designed to wear them.

The ghost and the Devil lay there sprawled on the street. Having focused on his Syringer rifle leading up to the battle, he couldn’t have guessed what kind of ammunition he’d last loaded into the Nagant. Such a game of chance, it was up to fate to dictate what ailment this modified revolver would dole. He could set the very Tryasovitsy into the world from the muzzle of this raider-forged device.

Angel broke away from its own fight eventually. It returned to its owner’s side to finish his job with its saw attachment. The Eyebot shell rolled away without the body attached.

“So good of you to save a little of your fight for me, too, Sir!” it praised.

‘Choly holstered the Nagant and grabbed the Devil’s club. He tried to stand, still heaving.

“You... need to work on your...” When he couldn’t put both hands on the club to do one better, he kicked at the head. “--sWING.”

Angel retrieved his Syringer for him. Though he appreciated it returned to him, he wouldn’t make much use of it with a broken, multiply-dislocated arm. It helped him sling it onto his back. He nearly questioned whether his joints had jumbled up how he believed they did, or if the chems had his sensory input more scrambled than usual. Before he could flip his Pip-Boy to the vitals menu, Angel scooped him up bridal style in two tendrils and sped off at maximum speed across the South Common.

He barely processed Sticks had called out a prearranged warning cry: Angel, descending!

The flare popped in the sky. He gaped at the charter school, but noticed the Pip-Boy chirp. It had just freshly finished recalibrating to being worn alongside the Vault Suit again. He glanced to it, but didn’t have the spit to swallow. It was even worse on the inside than he could tell from the outside.

Three shells shrieked down. Two shattered windows on their way inside the charter school, while the third made a droning crater in the street. ‘Choly tried to observe the chaos of the Robert House Charter as it sped off into the distance behind them, but the Rad-I-Canned did not and would not affect the robots.

The Assaultrons and Protectrons made chase, only to slam face-down as they each came to the juncture between Thorndike and the Lowell Connector. The tripwires hadn’t just been set for the Devils. One Assaultron noticed the wire in time, and jumped. It lunged forward to connect a spray of flames from its arm attachment. ‘Choly tucked his head into his fur collar as best he could. The next thing he knew, he wasn’t on fire anymore. Angel’s incendiary laser disintegrated wiring throughout the Assaultron, rendering it inert to the street. His energy resistant coat had beaded off the accelerant.

Then the Eyebots and Mister Handies caught up. Or, at least they had been Mister Handies once. ‘Choly could feel Angel shudder in recognition of the scraps which remained of its brass chassis-stripped kindred, little more than flame thrusters welded with parts from unidentifiable equipment, rebar, and drill-like blades. A spray of lasers sliced off one of Angel’s ocular lenses, but it pressed onward still.

“It’s too late, Olivia!” the Eyebots jeered, resounding like megaphones in the streets. “Troy has fallen!”

And then, they noticed that the Rust Devils from the Robert House Charter had caught up to them as well. Except they were naked... and shaped all wrong. ‘Choly couldn’t help but gasp in grief in the recognition the Rad-I-Canned hadn’t just fused together Furrier with Devil, but Devil with Devil. Despite their uncertain number of limbs and heads, and awkward joint angles, they still galloped after him with uncanny speed and grace. One of the faces still wore a skeleton mask. He started crying, and couldn’t explain why.

Troy? he found himself wondering in confusion. This is... this is Lowell...

“My sensors suggest you are very badly injured, Mister Carey. Please let me administer a Stimpak.”

“Nn-- no. Med-X. Second Med... X. Can’t Stimpak without setting-- bones.” His eyes glazed over amid shallow breaths. “Bones.”

“I believe I can safely administer one additional Med-X,” it hesitated, but complied. It couldn’t get at him to inject the painkiller, especially not since it had kept its Gutsy tendril free carrying its owner. So it handed it to him, and he injected it himself, into his left shoulder, through the Vault Suit, with his still partially-mangled right hand. “You’re certainly pushing our terms of agreement tonight, Sir. If this weren’t medically necessary, I shall go on record that I would be refusing you.”

“Noted. But we both need to worry more about staying in one piece--!”

With a shriek of rubber, the Riverhawk fishtailed between the Unfolded Devils and their robots, and the ghost and his chariot. Sticks unloaded a wave of fire to stave back the onslaught. The Devils’ Sentry Bot swerved into view from the same direction the Pick-R-Up truck had gotten onto the Lowell Connector, and slammed into the front of the truck. The dual Fusion Cores of the glorified tank robot melted down and ruptured in a nuclear blast that sent dozens flying.

‘Choly could do nothing but look on in dread when the Riverhawk burst into a second wave of flames, likely from the Flamer tank igniting as well.

As they came up on the Deenwood Compound, ‘Choly set his eyes forward, and at first believed a hallucination had set itself upon the place. His broken arm jostled around as they throttled off the Connector and under the broken remnants of the Route 3 overpass. The entire base looked at first as though the underworldly magenta smoke of the Berries had lit it up, but the nearer they drew, the more hopeless he felt.

A flare had been fired directly onto the base, signaling the detonation of Rad-I-Canned shells. A haze of Klutz and X-Cell-Root hugged the ground. He frowned when laser fire chased close behind them again.

“Fuck-me-in-my-mouth, why can’t I fire back at them!” He nearly had whiplash, jerking between the robots closing in behind them, and the base gates coming up in front of them. He stuttered in panic. “--Wait! Angel I don’t have my bars. My bars. I DON’T--”

“Have some faith in me, Sir!” the Handy laughed, doing its best to sprint full speed, ignoring the fallen checkpoints. “What kind of Handy would I be!”

The gates had been slammed down, and robotic carnage lay strewn about. Sirens echoed in awful off-key alternations. ‘Choly didn’t know whether to worry more about the base’s robots potentially not recognizing him as an ally, or about what kind of firepower the Devils had mustered to manage such destruction. Even with the neurological boost of the Berry Mentat still barely flickering, he couldn’t calculate just how many of the base’s robots had fallen already.

Then again, the Rust Devils had discarded their armor amongst the fallen robots, and telling it all apart couldn’t have been more difficult by spotlight.

The carnage interested the Devils more than Angel and ‘Choly did, and the two passed through unhindered while the Unfolded figures scavenged giddily. The Rad-I-Canned seemed to have dissipated enough as to not cause much trouble, though the droning whine resonating throughout Deenwood nettled something deep inside ‘Choly which got him to wriggling. Angel held him tighter to keep him from pulling off his hood or coat, but didn’t keep him from unfastening the collar of his Vault Suit.

“Where’s General Francis?” ‘Choly asked Angel, his eyes scanning everywhere, even the rooftops. “General Francis? Where!?”

“The Research Development Wing, is what I’m hearing from what remains of the Gutsies.”

If ‘Choly could deflate more in the moment, he would have.

As they came up on the R & D building, it became clear that the Devils had planned this all along. They had waited until the Furriers exhausted all their numbers in Back Central, so that they could enterprise on the obstruction to infiltrate the base with significantly better odds. It had been almost too easy to get away from the school, all things considered. They had to have stationed just enough Devils at the charter school to look the part of occupation, and sent the rest upon Deenwood.

But how could they have known the Furriers had planned to sweep the charter school first?

The flare. Maybe Sticks had survived the crash. In a twisted logic, the Devils had been corralled onto base, so it stood to reason to signal the shells be fired into the greatest concentration of raiders. If they knew what that stuff did, they wouldn’t have fired it themselves. Would they?

His brain-spark fizzled out, and the glowing Berry aura-smoke faded. He encountered a Furrier-Devil who’d clearly Unfolded all three times that day. Unable to process exactly where its faces smeared across its form, he screamed.

The pain of broken ribs knocked the breath right out of him again, in his effort to voice his distress.

Angel and ‘Choly followed the sounds of metal shredding and screams down the corridors to Wing II. The Handy entered open double doors at a caution. A Rust Devil exited her Power Armor, then seized what she’d held in its grip to hold out toward Olivia. The General heaved in hysterics. ‘Choly’s hand went to his mouth when he identified a headless Assaultron body laying inert at the Power Armor’s feet.

The Devils’ leader pulled a few wires in Helen’s head and fired off the Assaultron’s ocular laser with a sadistic lack of precision, incinerating a terminal behind Olivia rather than hitting her. The droning whine of the Rad-I-Canned shells had them both disrobing. She fired again, strafing the side of Olivia’s face.

“To think this is all it took to get you to show some skin,” the sixty-some woman sneered. She ripped off her road goggles one-handed, and in kind peeled away her leathers. Scars and tattoos covered her entire body. “Now there’s nothing standing between you and me.”

The ghoulish woman rose. With tears streaming down her face, she cupped her hands to her mouth. An inhaler dropped to the floor, and the rest of her clothes came off. Broken determination lit up her dark eyes, and she threw herself at the raider.

“Laverne, you’ve never once understood what you’ve been begging for.” She glared at her, to guarantee her once-lover knew their flesh had already begun to tangle. “Let’s hope I exceed your expectations.”

'Choly couldn’t not look on as the pair slurred together in a kiss and fell to the floor in a paroxysm of dialectical melting flesh.

Once it became difficult to tell where Olivia ended and Laverne began, Angel dropped ‘Choly to the floor and vanished. He seethed, having landed on his broken arm. He ripped off his burlap hood as soon as he could muster the will. He hobbled to the first office chair he could find. He could barely see straight through the pain, let alone summon the breath or volume to cry out for Angel.

The sirens changed over to a different set of alternations.

The loudspeakers bleated in a stern masculine voice:

“THIS UNITED STATES MILITARY BASE HAS BEEN COMPROMISED. NO SURVIVING ORDER OF COMMAND REMAINING. THE DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY DISALLOWS THIS PROPERTY TO FALL INTO ENEMY HANDS. SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE HAS BEEN INITIATED! SELF-DESTRUCT HAS BEEN INITIATED! YOU HAVE FOUR MINUTES TO SURVIVE.”

Trembling, ‘Choly stared again at the writhing mass in the floor, which no longer bore any humanoid likeness. His soul left him.

“Fuck.”

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[songs-of-the-east]

Villagers in Polesia region, Belarus celebrate Shchedry Vecher (Generous Eve), the Orthodox New Years Eve which has remnants of the ancient pre-Christian Slavic festival of Kolyada.

Kolyada or koleda (сyrillic: коляда, коледа, колада, коледе) is an ancient pre-Christian winter festival. It was later incorporated into Christmas. The word is still used in modern Ukrainian (Коляда, Kolyadá), Belarusian (Каляда, Kalada, Kalyada), Russian (Коляда, Kolyada), Polish (Szczodre Gody kolęda), Bulgarian, Macedonian, Serbian (Коледа, Коледе) Lithuanian (Kalėdos, Kalėda) and Bosnian, Croatian, Czech, Slovak, Slovene (koleda). The word used in Old Church Slavonic language (Колѧда) sounds closest to the current Polish language pronunciation, as Polish is the only Slavic language which retains the nasal vowels of the Proto-Slavic language. One theory states that Kolyada is the name of a cycle of winter rituals stemming from the ancient calendae. Some claim it was named after Kolyada, the Slavic God of winter or Kolyada, the goddess who brings up a new sun every day.

In modern Ukrainian, Russian (kolyada), Czech, Slovak, Croatian (koleda), Kashubian kòlãda, Romanian (colindă) and Polish (kolęda, Old Polish kolenda) the meaning has shifted from Christmas itself to denoting the tradition of strolling, singing, and having fun on Christmas Eve, same in the Balkan Slavs. It specifically applies to children and teens who walk house to house greeting people, singing and sifting grain that denotes the best wishes and receiving candy and small money in return. The action is called kolyadovannya in Ukrainian and is now applied to similar Old East Slavic celebrations of other old significant holidays, such as Generous Eve (Belarusian: Шчодры вечар, Щедрий вечiр) the evening before New Year's Day, as well as the celebration of the arrival of spring. Similarly in Bulgaria and Macedonia, in the tradition of koleduvane (коледуване) or koledarenje (коледарење) around Christmas, groups of kids visiting houses, singing carols and receiving a gift at parting. The kids are called 'koledari' or rarely 'kolezhdani' who sing kolyadka (songs).

Koleda is also celebrated across northern Greece by the Slavic speakers of Greek Macedonia, in areas from Florina to Thessaloniki, where it is called Koleda (Κόλιντα, Κόλιαντα) or Koleda Babo (Κόλιντα Μπάμπω) which means «Koleda Grandmother» in Slavic. It is celebrated before Christmas by gathering in the village square and lighting a bonfire, followed by local Macedonian music and dancing.

Croatian composer Jakov Gotovac wrote in 1925 the composition «Koleda», which he called a «folk rite in five parts», for male choir and small orchestra (3 clarinets, 2 bassoons, timpani and drum). There is also a dance from Dubrovnik called «The Dubrovnik Koleda».

The ancient God of the underworld Veles was known to regularly send spirits of the dead into the living world as his heralds. Festivals in his honour were held near the end of the year, in Winter, when time was coming to the very end of world order, chaos was growing stronger, the borders between worlds of living and dead were fading, and ancestral spirits would return amongst the living. This ancient celebration of Velja noć (Great Night) still persists in folk customs of Koleda, which can happen anywhere from Christmas up to end of February.

In pre-Christian Croatia, «koleda» was a celebration of death and rebirth at the end of December in honour of the sun and god - Dažbog, whose power once more begins to increase in those days. Krijes, meaning bonfire in Croatian, is another festival honouring the sun, during the summer at the time of his greatest strength; a celebration for good harvest.

Source: http://www.rodnovery.ru/en/articles/868-kolyada

[thelittleukrainianwell-armedgirl]

Volodymyr Viatrovych

Нині-завтра ця пісня Миколи Леонтовича звучатиме по всьому світу. Цей текст про його твір, який ніхто не почує.

Пісня. Вже ранок? То він таки заснув. Попри вечірню тривогу, сон був глибокий і приємний. Багато світла і музики. Хор знов співав "Щедрика", зривав захоплені овації публіки. А потім була ще одна пісня і зала ошелешено мовчала. В очах кожного з присутніх світився захват. Саме про неї він мріяв відколи почав творити. Вона була прекрасна і він чітко пам'ятає її, кожен рядок, кожну ноту. Ця великодня веснянка ��осі звучить в його голові. Він може хоч зараз її записати. Треба зробити це негайно, щоб подарувати цю красу світові. О, він певен пісня затьмарить навіть "Щедрика"... - Вставай давай! - перебив захоплені думки грубий голос. Кричав чоловік, вирячивши на нього сірі очі. Страшнішим за шалений погляд було хіба дуло рушниці, спрямоване йому в груди. Сон миттєво зник, пригадалася причина вчорашньої тривоги. Нею був саме цей чоловік, який увечері постукав у двері батькового дому. Господар, в якого досі сила виховання переважувала звички, які гарантували безпеку, впустив незнайомця в хату. Той був напідпитку, хатнє тепло після зимового вечора налаштувало гостя на балакучий настрій. Від почутого тривога охопила вже не лише його, а усіх - батька, мати, сестру. В нього все похололо всередині, коли почув оте незнайомцеве "я в ЧК работаю". Той тим часом вів далі про свої подвиги у боротьбі з "петлюрівськими бандами", про завдання із нищенням їх отаманів. "Значить не по мене, - з полегшенням подумав тоді він, - принаймні цього разу". Ніхто з присутніх не підтримував розмови, та це не заважало балакучому чекісту не змовкати кілька годин. Врешті батько, помітивши позіхання непроханого гостя, запропонував вкладатися спати. - Ляжете з Миколою в кімнаті, мати постелить. На щастя там чекіст не продовжив балаканини, а майже миттєво заснув. Микола почав заспокоюватися і міг тепер думати про "Русалчин Великдень" - нову оперу, над якою працював. А за кілька хвилин, попри набридливий храп чекіста і попередні переживання, провалився в глибокий сон, який протривав до ранку.

⁃ Вставай кому сказал! - повторив чекіст. Микола остаточно розплющив очі, натяг на ніс окуляри і зміг тепер краще роздивитися його. Схоже той був ще більш п'яний як звечора. Коли і де він встиг ще напитися? ⁃ Што думал пранєсло! Ан нєт, контра. Я тєбя уже давно вєду. Сабірайся, тєбя ждьот справєдлівая кара. ⁃ ��ка кара про що Ви? ⁃ Пра твою котрреволюционную деятель��ость ⁃ Це якась помилка, я не займаюся політикою. Я музикант, композитор... ⁃ Я знаю кто ти контра - Лєонтовіч. І прішол імєнно за табой. ⁃ Я лише музику пишу, я не роблю нічого проти влади. ⁃ "Нічого"? Да твая музика протів власті! Понял! Чекіст кричав дедалі голосніше, розмахуючи рушницею спрямованою на Миколу, палець залишався на гачку зброї. ⁃ Я творю пісні, - пробував заспокоїти його Микола. ⁃ "Пісні"! А должен пісать пєсні! І нє на поповскую тєматіку, а нашу пролетарскую. ⁃ Це не попівська тематика, це оборобки народної... ⁃ І народ ваш тоже вєсь контра! - кричав далі чекіст - банди кругом, атамани, всєх перестрєлять! ⁃ Да знаєм ми всьо пра тєбя, - продовжив він вже спокійніше, - і рабату твою на правітєльство Петлюри, і пра хор твой, каторий по міру калєсіт с контрреволюционнимі пєснямі. ⁃ Це народні пісні, - спробував перебити Микола. Але краще б він цього не робив - чекіст знову зірвався крик, знов почав розмахувати рушницею. ⁃ Я здєсь народ! Понял, контра! І народним будєт то что я скажу! Кара моя народная! Останні слова чекіста перервав гучний хлопок. Рушниця, яка гуляла в руках ще хвилю перед тим, завмерла спрямована в груди Миколи. З дула здіймався маленький хвостик диму. Його було замало для того, щоб заповнити кімнату, проте все довкола раптом почало зникати залите туманом. За хвилю чи вічність він побачив перелякане обличчя батька, що пробилося крізь цей туман. Татові руки чомусь були залиті кров'ю. Здається він намагався підняти його. Чи то він сам почав підніматися над землею, так легко як уві сні. Батько кричав щось крізь сльози, що заливали обличчя. Але Микола не чув його. У вухах лунала прекрасна веснянка зі сну. Пісня, яку вже ніхто не почує.