It's Wednesday evening. The wind carries a sound of trash russian pop with a baseline provided by synthesized accordion pulled in a distinctively slavic manner and kick.wav from the valley that has buildings some of which have cardboard windows and are guarded by array of dogs of indescribable breed. A female vocal sings in russian how "nobody knows and understands it, only mom does". The volume of the sound doubles every hour.

It is 3AM and the volume has peaked. A man's voice sings a sorrowful story of his brother dying in jail, convicted over something trivial, like murder. The synthesized accordion is still pulled in a distinctly slavic manner, and kick.wav is still in fashion. There are screams of women, an array of distinct barks and shouts of men carried over from the valley.

It is 6AM on a Thursday. The sun has risen an hour before, illuminating the fields, forests and the valley in a cheerful summers' light. The shouts have subsided an hour ago, and it seems that even the dogs got tired of barking. The volume is still at its' peak, slavordionkickwav notwithstanding. Voice of indeterminate gender is celebrating joys of dying for the motherland.

Around the noon, the music abruptly stops. A beaten silver vehicle leaves the valley, full of men. It speeds over the dirt road, raising trails of dust, the driver blissfully oblivious to the woeful condition of both the road and the suspension of a vehicle.

They return an hour later, and the music continues towards the evening. Oh! i know this one! It's about how some things can only by understood by someones' momma.


It's saturday evening and the past few days were a faithful reenactment of some slavic groundhogs' day. But change is in the air - the air is tense with charge; the sky has become overcast, and there is darkness rising from the east. The music stops abruptly and mid-story. By now it feels wrong to hear something else and the peaceful sounds of wind rustling the leaves on the trees and birds singing distantly sounds eerie and foreboding. There are shouts and barking in the valley, and it feels like a general commotion as a column of dark smoke rises towards the heavens. They have finally done it, I think to myself, they have finally summoned the slavic satan.

Several fire engines, a single ambulance and a police car arrive a half an hour later, as a dark cloud finally rolls over the fields and the valley. Strobes of blue and some red make it look like a silent disco. It evokes a feeling of longing for something that was never there. It evokes a feeling of things ending prematurely. It evokes a feeling of shameful relief when someone who has been bedridden for years finally dies.

As the emergency services leave in a neat line, I finally open the windows to let some air in. The air smells like burnt tires. A sigh escapes my lips. "But at least that's over", I think, knowing perfectly well that it will repeat a month later.