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Simana’s Diaries -6- Memories
Simana slipped through the entrance of the tent after sipping her morning tea.
steps were light, but the years accumulated in her bones now weighed heavier than the silence.
tent wasn’t exactly dark, but no light entered directly.
felt walls had darkened over time, transforming the daylight into a golden melancholy.
In the center stood a fire pit, now extinguished. It was covered in ash, yet it still carried a warm silence, as if it had been breathing just the night before.
stones around it were surrounded by fox fur. Though some of the fur was worn, some was still as bright as the fire itself.
of the wall. This object, which looked like an ordinary drum, transformed into a gateway for spirits in the hands of a shaman through its vibrations.
deer hide, symbols representing the layers of the sky were carved into its rim: nine rings, an eye, a broken feather.
Next to it hung the drumstick, wrapped in horsehair; that drumstick was never set down.
Simana knelt down. She looked at the old shaman’s robe standing in a corner—the robe sewn from deer hide, its edges inlaid with animal bones, with fox fur hanging from its shoulders.
anymore, but its very presence there was like a silent memento bearing witness to Simana’s existence.
corner, dried herbs were arranged in a row: yellow flowers, black thyme, rock moss… and, of course, beech bark. She took a pinch and tossed it into the fire.
smoke rose in a thin line. Perhaps there was no wind on the steppe, but the inside of the tent suddenly began to stir.
Then he placed some dried meat on a wooden plate, along with some pine nuts. He began to eat quietly, accompanied by a piece of sour bread.
But it wasn’t the morsels swirling in his mouth that satisfied him—it was the memories swirling in his mind.
a while…
hand reached for the wooden fox necklace. Without lifting his head, he murmured:
time is drawing near; the journey is close.
And the road isn’t long anymore…
Because within me lie skies I have walked through.
And when everything falls silent, all that remains is pure reality.”
Then he took his stone cup filled with spiced milk and sat down across from the fire.
smoke rose, time bent, and the sky receded.
Simana closed her eyes… She returned to her seventeen-year-old self. To that blessed day in the forest when she first encountered the Golden Fox…
