In the Forest of Ruebezahl

Beside the brick building a container with onions. The brown onion skins are removed fast. It is good to go the way without unnecessary burden.

Warning: take good care – storms sweep over the country with thunder and lightning!
The thunderstorm – an old gnarled little man with a long beard, felt hat and a shabby suit – coming near, raving, seizing us.

Age-old trees rustle and murmur with whispering voices. The trunks strong and knotty. The crowns shake their deeply disturbed dark-green leaves at the gnarry old branches. The roaring wind whirls up things long dead. Violet-blue clouds hang heavily and deep – pressing down everything.

In the middle of the dark forest: a Russian basilica - ancient and artless. Whitewashed walls, an old lancet window – yellow and coloured glass in rough mosaic. Our bodies whirl like leaves through the holy place.

So please flee, please do it and flee!!! Leave this place before its downfall, before its perdition!!!

I glance to the window, the sole exit.
The only problem: I would not like to destroy anything!

The powerful trees bend and groan in the storm:
”Get ouuut...! Get ouuuut...!”

Ruebezahl