Seknovenie. Traditions say that summer leaves. On the wings of flocks. Birds go away so often. “It is already cold for us here. We will come back when it gets warm.” And fly away. Believing that they will come back. It seems that we humans don’t have this kind of wisdom. We stay when we’re cold or leave forever even when it’s still warm. “I will come back when it gets warm” is really. Without the unnecessary heroism of being cold, without the pathetic drama of the abandoned, without the feeling of betrayal. Just our seasons get along. I will come back when it gets warm. In this life or the next.
Text by Maria Laleva
