Original subtitles

Aleksandr Dovzhenko

THE ENCHANTED DESNA

Alexander Nikolaevich!

Alexander Nikolaevich...

Here starts Ukraine.

From this ravine, Ukraine.

I thanked him quietly.

I didn't kneel down on my motherland.

I didn't cry.

I remained silent.

My dear motherland was in front of me.

Wasted, neglected,

with destroyed villages.

Invaded land.

They beckoned to Galya

They took her with themselves

Oh, you, Galya...

Young Galya...

They beckoned to Galya

They took her with themselves.

Galya, Galya...

Young Galya...

They beckoned to Galya

They took her with themselves.

Ride with us, with us Cossacks

You’ll be better off with us

In the orchard there's a profuse willow

There was a pretty girl

There’s nothing in the world I love more

than planting something in the ground

and watching it grow.

When all kinds of plants come pushing out of the earth, there's my joy.

Good and beautiful...

What a cheerful place our garden was!

As you walked out you were overwhelmed

by its luxuriant greenery.

And in early summer: cucumbers and pumpkins in bloom

Potatoes, raspberry, tobacco, beans in bloom

and the sunflowers!

Poppies!

There was nothing our indefatigable mother

did not plant in that garden.

Mother of God, the Blessed Virgin!

My ministering spirit, my holy martyress!

Smite that dunderhead with your holy omophorion!

Just like he plucked those carrots out of the damp ground

Holy carrots!

So twist, Our merciful Lady,

and pluck out his little hands and feet!

and break his little fingers and joints!

Where are you running, you little scamp?

May your hands and feet break!

May you rot in that tobacco patch till doomsday!

May you wilt like those carrots

which your filthy hands tore out!

Where are you running?

May your hands and feet dry out!

May you pop off, may you burst!

You dunderhead! Mother of God, the Blessed Virgin...

She could go without food for three days.

But she couldn’t live a single day without cursing.

That was her spiritual food.

They'd flow from her mouth

in an unending stream like verse from a poet inspired.

That was the art of her ardent, aging

and obscure soul.

Mom, could you bring me some stewed fruit?

Something’s burning in my guts...

You still lying around there?

May you never stand up!

I'll bring it now.

May you eat and never be full.

You should’ve popped off in your cradle, may you burst!

May you be blighted!

Our Grandpa looked very much like God.

When I prayed, as I looked in the icon corner I would see a portrait of Grandpa

wearing old silver-foil vestments.

Grandpa smelled of warm earth and a little bit of a flour mill.

He was a literate man in a religious way

and loved to intone the Psalter in a solemn voice on Holidays.

Mother hated Grandpa

and thought he practiced black magic.

At the fair, she exchanged for a hen a painting of the Last Judgement

to strike fear in her great enemies: Grandma, Grandpa and Father.

Here. Take a look.

That’s where I am.

Look. Do you see?

Here everyone had his place already set aside for him.

The devils were pouring hot tar down Father’s throat

for his drinking and beating up Mom.

Grandma was licking a hot frying pan cause she had

a venomous tongue and was a great sorceress.

Grandpa was in the clutches of the Devil himself.

Because of his reading the magic Psalter,

he cast a spell on her, which made her feel ill for the third year running.

Stop barking at me, will ye.

Why should you be barking anyway?

Go and choke on a bone!

My merciful mediator, hear my prayers.

Come, St. Nicholas on your white steed in your white saddle

Let him be devoured by the blight and all other diseases...

If only I could die here under the raspberry bushes.

Let them look for me then.

Let them cry over me.

Recalling what a darling boy I had been.

Let them carry me to the graveyard,

and there I’d come to life again!

But why at the graveside? I could come to life even earlier!

I’d jump to my feet and Grandma would run away in terror and never return.

and then I’d go to the cottage...

I shouldn’t have pulled up the carrots.

They should've gone on growing...

Now my holy status had lapsed.

That's it, I'm going to enter and see it all.

What punishment had my newly sinful soul earned itself?

Probably for the first sin it wouldn't be too bad...

maybe no worse than that flame...

At first that picture made me shudder

but eventually I got used to it like

a soldier in battle gets used to the thunder of guns.

Mother of God, Queen of Heaven!

Just as he doesn't let me have any peace,

don’t let him have any in this world or in the one to come!

Common people in this Ukraine of ours did not believe much in God.

It’s not that they disregarded God

but simply didn't want to trouble him with unworthy matters.

That’s why they addressed their prayers to the lower deities.

Don’t ever let him be a plowman in the field...

or a fisherman on the main...

Nor a merchant on the plain...

My little doves, punish him

with such work that he know no rest or sleep

and make him work under such a boss...

nor plowman in the field....

I won’t eat meat.

I’ll carry as much water to Grandma as she wants.

I’ll start going to church.

If only the swallows' fledglings fell out of their nests

I’d feed them flies and bread right away.

So that the swallows would see what good things I could do.

and would tell Jesus Christ about it.

What else?

I’ll go out into the street and pay my respects to honored people.

Grandpa used to say this absolved many sins in the world to come.

I’ll go and doff my hat and say “Hello” to them.

Where could I find a man to pay my respects to?

What was I to do?

Where was I to go?

All the grown-ups were working in the field.

Old Zakharko was a blacksmith,

although I had never seen him at his job.

Hello, grandad!

He smoked such a strong brand of tobacco

that no one could stand near him.

Hello, grandad!

They said that his shag even made the fish afraid of him

and that’s why they didn’t bite.

Hello, grandad! Hey!

Beat it! Stop annoying me!

Why you’re hanging around here, you little squirt?

It all really happened but that was a very long time ago

and the memories gradually got lost

and never ever will the innocence of my barefoot childhood return.

And never again will the tobacco bloom like a priest’s chasuble

and the Last Judgement does not scare me

but the judgement of man does.

Why was I born into this world?

I shouldn’t have been born in the first place.

All this happened a very long time ago.

When I didn't know that everything passes,

that everything changes in the continual flux of time

and that all our acts and mishaps

flow like water between the banks of Time.

In my early childhood I was looked after by four nurses.

They were my brothers.

Lavrin, Serhiy, Vasil and Ivan.

Oh my little songs

Oh what am I to do with you?

Oh in the forest, in the grass

Oh dear me, there’s nothing good in store for these children.

There I'm going to sow you

... I go

I cry bitterly, I weep

Oh, sorrow, sorrow!

Such great sorrow!

Give me a penny

or a pastry or an apple!

People!

Give me something already, be so kind!

Three grandpas fell in love with a granny

and the fourth, the little one, stuck behind

Drink to your health!

May the wolves tear you to pieces!

Give me something!

Give me something, I tell ya!

Hey! Give me something!

Help!

Don't... don't...

-You... -I'm leaving.

-You... -I'm leaving, don't touch me.

Off you go!

3 pennies.. -How much? -1'50.

Give me...

Go!

Serves him right, that old devil.

At least he won’t be scaring people any more.

He’s not a beggar, damn him,

more like an oak tree struck by a thunderbolt.

Don't touch me!

Move, move!

Don't touch me!

A dark cloud is forming over the mountain

(unintelligible)

Over our Ukraine....

I've seen many handsome people in my lifetime,

but none as handsome as Father.

How much earth he plowed!

How much grain he reaped!

You could use him as a model to draw knights, Gods, Apostles,

great scientists and enlighteners, he had the right features for all.

The only unattractive thing about him was his clothes.

His clothes were so unsightly,

so faded and poor!

As if some brutes, just for the sake of insulting the image of man,

had covered an antique statue with dirt and rags.

Mikola!

Mikola!

Mikola!

The children!

As he found out at the fair in Borzna

that his children were dying of an epidemic

he hurriedly hitched up the horses.

Oh, my sons, my sons!

My little nightingales... My baby eagles...

Why was your song cut short so early?

What could be compared to the intensity of Father’s grief?

Unless perhaps the darkness of night.

In his great despair he cursed the name of God,

and God had to keep silent.

Had He appeared before him in all His glory,

Father would've run Him through with a pitchfork

or hacked Him down with an axe.

There he stands before me on the Kyiv hills far away.

His beautiful face has turned blue from the Nazis’ beating.

Grief has misted his eyes with tears,

I can barely hear his words of long ago:

“My children, my little nightingales...”

"Why was your song cut short so early?"

I, too, burned in the fire at that time,

dying from all the human, animals'

and plants' deaths.

I swayed on the gallows.

I was reduced to ashes and smoke by the catastrophic explosions.

From my muscles and shattered bones,

they made soap in the middle of the 20th century.

My skin went to make book covers and lamp shades

and lay dirty and trampled on the paths of war.

Flattened by the heavy tanks of humanity's last war.

Once I felt I could bear it no longer

and, while shouting battle slogans from the flames

and crying vengeance on the enemy,

I loudly moaned:

“It hurts me, it hurts!”

“Why did you cry?” I was reproached.

“What made you do that in such a great hour of trial?"

"Was it pain or fear?"

“Suffering"

I’m an artist, and imagination has always been my joy

and my curse.

All of a sudden it betrayed me.

At the sight of this devastation it seemed to me for a moment

that not only was my village perishing.

but so was also all my people.

What could be more terrible than that?

Excuse me.

Running away, you bastards?

I've shuttled many of you already.

Young and healthy...

"Shuttle us here, shuttle us there"

Savka, come on! We've to shuttle.

Let'em run away.

Come on, these have to be the last ones.

Hey! It seems you guys are...

You are.. how do I put it...?

It seems you're headed to a wrong place.

Your clothes are new,

your bags and belts too.

And you yourselves are young.

But you're turning in the wrong direction.

Lets go already!

You think they'll shuttle us?

We've to be very careful.

I don't know why they run away like that.

Why do they fear death?

If there's war, then let's not be afraid.

if we are to live through this, then...

As they say:

"you can't hide in a tank, you can't get dirty in a stove."

Let's take Golevko, for example.

How he beat the same people in (...)

He got rid of them all!

Have you read the letter? -Yeah

Colonel Golevko Pivtorak....

Listen, old man!

Could you walk faster?

...they're not human beings...

Yeah

Hey grandpa, could you walk a little faster?

I can't.

When did you all become so fast?

I'm too old for walking fast.

I've walked enough in my life.

Where's the river?

Is it far?

Here it is.

Why do you stop?

Let's go... then God will see.

You can't take care of yourselves,

So let's go.

Run away, you evil spirits!

Where are you going?

Haven't you been to war before?

Is it ready, Savka?

It's beginning to cloud over...

Could the Last Judgment be starting?

As I was looking at Sorov Kormchin,

I felt I was being transported to the other world.

A great sense of shame and sadness overwhelmed me...

Goodbye my beautiful Desna.

The devil knows what's all this...

This morning one of those guys came to my house

with arms, belts, glasses and all that stuff

He's...

He even pointed his revolver at me and screamed!

"Transport us quickly, geezer!", he said.

Goddammit..

But he himself was trembling and

his eyes were wide open out of fear.

Well, may God...

Devil knows what!

Seems the German is coming.

Grandpa, shuttle us!

The bastards don't know that

If you're destined to die in the war, you can't slope off!

No one can save you!

Only if Golevko was here.

He'd never give up! No!

He'd return this boat back.

That's my Dimitri!

You can burn him or tear him apart

but he'll never give up!

And these here are thinking about salvation!

You see!

They'll end up spitting blood for a long time.

All this... We'll have to take it back!

We'll have to...

Hard to say how much soil we'll have to remove...

It's all blood here.

It was necessary for our squad to retreat!

So you say...

You didn't know how to fight,

So you retreated!

What do they say about war? Eh?

They say: either you kill your enemy

or (...)

I hate fascism with all my soul!

Then your soul is too small!

There are all kinds of souls, guys.

Some are deep and fast as the Dnieper river...

others are like the Desna river...

and still others are as a lake...

And sometimes it seems that the lake...

it's like, excuse me, bull piss...

But what if the soul is big but the man is anxious?!

Anxious!

Here we go, the bastards are sobbing.

Can't you just wait quietly?

Savka, just imagine:

How people are going to look at this?

'Cause they all trusted them like I trusted Golevko.

But look how it turned out.

Grandpa, ferry us!

I don't know about you, Savka.

But I wouldn't be kicked out of the Desna and the Dnieper by Hitler

and not even by Satan!

God forgive me!

Do you think this isn't hard for us?

YOU think.

Life is yours now.

Just in parting I'd like to say

You don't pour your drinks right.

I see you drink sorrow and grief...

You shouldn't..

That's not your kind of drink, boys.

That's women's drink!

Sorrow and grief turn a person into a worm.

Only the fast and strong win.

Wait a bit..

What should I say to The Fascist?

How should I receive him?

How should I look him in the eyes?

Tell him we'll come back soon!

Believe me, grandpa, we'll come back!

Goodbye, grandpa...

Goodbye...

Goodbye, old man.

Sorry we couldn't do more to help you in your old age.

-We'll never forget you, grandpa. -Go!

Get out of my sight!

Wherever I may be.

No matter how strong the winds blow,

they are never going to extinguish that fire

that Grandpa started in me in that boat.

What's our life, our blood...

when our whole nation is suffering? All the people...

Were you communists or not?

Did you carry a Party Card?

Probably not...

The wheat sowed by great Lenin,

is grown and risen in your hearts.

We'll never forgive or forget your deaths!

If I were asked

what music I liked in early childhood

what instrument

or musician

I'd say that most of all I liked to listen to the sound

of a scythe being hammered.

It sounded like the most entrancing music to me.

Even today I think that if someone

were to hammer a scythe under my window

I'd immediately become younger and I'd fall to work.

The clear ring of the scythe

betokened joy and delight to me

from the earliest days...

Already on the wagon!

You’re not to take the boy along!

The bugs will eat him!

They won’t, he’ll be all right.

He’ll drown in the Desna, believe me!

I won’t drown, Mom!

You silly boy!

You’ll fall off a cliff!

But Mom, why would I fall off a cliff?

Come on!

Then you’ll cut yourself with a scythe.

Will you go messing around near the scythes?

I won't, I won't!

Have we got everything we need?

Yes, yes!

Don’t go, sonny! My dear son.

Don’t let him go!

For a long long time...

Many, many times she would see me off

looking down the road through tear-misted eyes,

making the sign of the cross

for me to be shielded from bullet, sword, or cruel slander.

Many times will I depart, hurrying into the unknown.

The separations will weave their nests in my heart.

And I'll set off into the unknown

But I don't know yet anything about that.

There's a smell of marshes and grass in the air.

A smell of bread, of Father and the mowers.

The starry universe moves in time with us.

and I gradually drift off into slumber.

Our weather forecaster on the hayfield

for the past 150 years or so was a crow.

She was our family crow, so to speak.

She could unfailingly predict the approach of rain or a thunderstorm

even when the sky was still cloudless.

Uncle Samiylo was the only one who didn't succumb to the crow’s charms.

Oh, drop dead! Begone, you evil spirit!

Uncle Samiylo wielded the scythe

like a good painter wields his brush

effortlessly and deftly.

If he had the chance he’d mow

the surface of the whole world,

There would only be grass, bread and gruel...

Anxiety.

I saw commotion and strife everywhere.

In the bark of oak and willow trees.

In old tree stumps.

In the hollows of old willow trees.

In marsh water.

My eyes noticed everything.

Wherever I looked I'd discern the forms of

men, horses, wolves,

snakes and saints.

Something that looked like war, conflagration, fray or deluge.

In my mind’s eye everything lived a dual life.

Everything called for comparison.

What didn't I see in that sky!

A cloudy world teeming with giants and prophets

who were locked in incessant battle

and my childish soul did not always take it lightly,

sinking into sorrow.

If I were destined to harness but a thousandth part of them

and to arrange them in a coherent row of books or paintings

I'd know that I hadn't lived in this world for nothing

and hadn't burdened my betters in vain.

Not in vain...

I close my eyes...

Even today there's no darkness in my soul.

My mind shines on brightly,

illuminating the visible and invisible

in a boundless and, at times, disorderly sequence of pictures.

I can barely stand on my feet after pulling loads all day.

Do you think it’s any better for me? Not likely!

All I know is the bridle, the wagon pole and threats...

Once I used to gallop above the clouds.

Prophets rode on my back.

I still had wings then.

And my forefathers was a horse king, or god.

I, too, had wings.

But now I’ve got no wings, no beauty.

Only sores on my back.

Believe you me, he still beats me everyday.

But... it isn’t us he’s beating.

You say it isn’t us... But it hurts us, doesn’t it?

He’s punishing his own ill luck.

Hush! Let’s graze in silence.

His boy is gaping at us from over there.

From that time on, I never raised my hand against a horse.

Freeze!

Stop! Samiylo!

Samiylo! Where are you taking my haystack?

You hear me?!

It's my haystack! Where are you...?

Why yours? It's my haystack!

How can it be yours if it's mine?!

It's mine, I tell ya!

Don't you lie 'cause it's mine!

Don't you shake me!

I'm not shaking you! Don't you...!

It's my haystack, goddamn it!

It's mine! What are you...?

I tell ya, it's mine!

Don't you touch! It's mine.

I'll prove to you it's my haystack!

You're grabbing the wrong haystack!

I'll prove to you too!

I'll prove to you it's mine!

Yours is like an oak and mine like a willow!

Mine is like an oak?

Mine is like a willow!

Your haystack...

May the dogs eat your soul!

I’ll kill you...! I’ll run you through!

Siberia is our Czar’s!

Guys, you come with me...!

I’ll kill you...! I’ll run you through!

Siberia is our Czar’s!

In these battles the one who displayed the most valor

was our Grandad.

It’s over a half century now since he departed this world

but as long as I live

I’ll never forget the martial passion

harbored by his kind heart.

He could work himself up to a pitch of passion

that the world’s greatest actor or general would envy.

Help! Help!

You, evil spirit! Have you gone crazy?

I will run you through!

Well, I think it’s time for lunch!

What do you mean lunch? It’s supper time!

What a mess.

There were many good things in my parents' life.

but also many difficulties.

A lot of ignorance, darkness and evil.

Their clouded hopes and futile expectations

found their graves in drink and quarrels.

But most of all, what fate allotted them was hard work.

And their whole life was sorrowful like that of primitive man.

It's so wonderful and easy going downstream.

Feels like I'm not swimming at all.

Star —fall.

It's falling.

Fish —jump.

They're jumping.

Lion—appear on the riverbank.

So?

Pa, look, a lion!

A what? It’s a...

Ok then.

What am I writing about?

I realize it wasn’t me in the boat on the Desna.

Or maybe it was me...

No... I think it wasn't...

I think I should stop writing about this lion

and start describing domestic animals instead.

Because I am beginning to feel my pen hesitate.

The editors within me are being roused.

They swarm all around me.

There is one behind my left ear,

another under my right hand, a third at the table,

and a fourth in bed, ready for a good night’s editing.

All of them have a good sense of logic

and abhor vagueness.

But why can’t I write

that as a boy living by the Desna

I wanted lions to roam around everywhere

and wild birds to alight on my head and shoulders

in real life.

"That’s not plausible."

"It might be misunderstood."

"You could've not met the lion,

the more so since it’s just your fantasy."

"We’ll cross that out."

I won’t have that!

I feel something will come out of it.

What?

I don't know... maybe... happiness

"The lion can be replaced by something less incongruous."

"You could write convincingly about horses."

"We had horses, right?"

They were scrawny and ugly, I’m ashamed of writing about them.

Well, you can make them typical horses.

We can't do that. They were mangy.

But once a lion did walk down our riverbank.

After a derailment

the lion broke free.

He looked around.

He was probably so depressed and sick of

the spectators, the tamer, and everything else

that he left things to their fate

and made for the Desna

to find a bit of peace.

We can only pity the man

whose imagination is dull and dries up

whose recollection of childhood and adolescence

yields nothing dear and unusual,

and whom nothing can warm or make happy or sad.

Such a man is nondescript

whatever his status,

and his work, denied the warm rays of time,

is doomed to be nondescript.

So why should I scorn the past?

Is it to teach my grandchildren

to scorn my dear and sacred present

which some day will also become their past

in the great era of communism?

We'll sit down together once again.

We'll hold the oars of the boat

and we'll go back to the spring waters of the Desna

where Father and I rescued people and horses.

We lived in harmony with the forces of nature.

In winter we froze, in summer we roasted in the sun,

in autumn we kneaded the mud,

while in spring we were inundated by floods.

He who hasn't experienced all this

doesn't know what joy and real living is.

You must save the people in Zahrebellya.

They’re drowning, don't you hear?

You’ve got the only sound boat in the whole province.

And you’re a sailor besides!

How can he? It’s Holy Easter!

Shut up!

I’d be happy to rescue people, but I don't want to sin.

How could I rescue them?

I must eat a slice of sanctified Easter-bread

and have a drink according to custom.

I can’t disrespect Easter!

Mind, you’ll land in jail!

Instead of getting a laudation for saving people and cattle,

you’ll be cracking fleas in a clink.

All right!

May you be damned!

I’m coming!

Where are you off to? It's Easter!

Let’s eat it unsanctified. If we sin, we sin.

Makar, sit down.

All right...

Come on, Makar!

All right.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!

Fill up!

Here’s to the Easter willow, to the flood...

To calamity! To Spring...

Here started our fame.

Those were my preschool heroics

for which I'd probably win a holiday in the Artek today.

Christ is risen, you drowned ducks!

He is risen indeed!

But then we didn’t know anything about any Arteks.

It was a long time ago.

Easter day be blessed, ye people!

Easter of God the Lord

From earth to heaven...

Christ is risen!

Christ is risen!

Christ is risen!

Have patience, Christians!

The Almighty has sent us a sign

through these waters

which are blessed tidings

of a good harvest

of crops and grasses.

Where are you steering, you devil?!

Steer toward the thatch, the thatch!

Here Christ heard things being hollered across the water,

which would have made the most case-hardened jury blush.

Besides, someone had spread the provocative rumor

that the priest’s wife had eaten meat during Lent

which she had taken from the priest’s closed retail stock.

Oh, cursed be the hour!

Christ has risen!

He is risen indeed!

Take this.

Thank you.

Christ has risen! He is risen indeed!

He believed he was a savior from the flood

A hero-seafarer, a Vasco da Gama.

And although life has placed him near a puddle instead of an ocean,

his soul was like that of an ocean.

Mykola! Mykola!

Take the children away!

And maybe because his soul was big

enough to encompass the whole ocean,

Vasco da Gama could not entirely come to terms with this discrepancy

and sunk his ships in a tavern.

Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed!

Help us, Mykola, but don't laugh.

Any minute now the house might be swept away.

See, it’s already moving.

Now what the hell kind of Easter-bread is this

If, God forbid, it has to be eaten unsanctified.

The entire parish is huddling on roofs,

while the catfish swim in our houses.

Easter day be blessed, ye people!

Easter of God the Lord

From death to life...

From Earth to Heaven!

Father, I think a nice jolly tune

would fit the occasion much better.

Shut up!!

Even today you’re against God, you impious infidel.

You blasphemer!

Father, and you sexton and cantor,

let’s get it straight about my religious beliefs:

I am not against God!

Sashko, grab her by the horns. Don’t be afraid.

So listen, you clerics, I’m not against God,

I’m not against Easter,

and not even against Lent.

I’m not against His cattle, His ox or His ass...

You’ll burn in hell for such words!

Of course God above knows best.

But seriously, why should I be praising my Lord

and especially on Easter, if He sends us such a flood?

I don’t see any sense in it.

The ways of God are unfathomable!

Of course! In such a gift of water

there must be a great divine purpose.

But the only thing I know for sure is

that my pants are wet and my head doesn’t get any drier.

Be quiet, you blasphemer!

God save us!

What a parish!

Every spring for over a 1,000 years they’ve been getting soaked like this,

and the devil can’t budge them from this place.

Must be a trick of nature!

Spring came to us from the Desna River.

In those days nobody knew anything about taming nature,

and the water flowed wherever and however it chose.

The present is always in transition

from the past into the future.

Dialectics!

What kind of people will take part in

the history of the formation of communism?

Beautiful,

thoughtful,

patient,

infinitely resilient and heroic tribe of communism.

In a short period of time,

precisely this people will cut off the rivers and reverse them.

They'll create oceans of a hundred million

cubic meters of vivid waters.

They'll lay channels through

the thirsty steppes of our motherland.

They'll transform the Earth, and take over the universe.

One should never forget and always remember

that the people need artists

to show the world the beauty of life,

It’s a strange and pitiful thing

that we sometimes lack the power and clarity of spirit

to fathom life’s daily happiness,

and that therefore so much beauty

passes before our eyes unnoticed.

Be blessed,

my beautiful Desna.

For every time I remember you over the years,

I become kinder.

I feel infinitely rich and generous.

You have given me enough gifts to last me my whole life.

I am glad that I was born on your banks;

that I drank of your soft and merry waters;

that I walked barefoot along your enchanted beaches;

that I counted the stars of the sky reflected in your waters;

that to this day when I look down I realize

that I haven't lost the happy gift of seeing those stars

even in the puddles of everyday life.

So may the birds sing in the sky

and the girls in the field.

May the sun set.

Directed by Yuliya Solntseva

Cinematography by Aleksei Temerin

THE END.

Subtitles made by dolka