A walk through snowy Kolomenskoe Park today, with bare, gnarled fruit trees on a hillside and enormous whitewashed gates from Ivan's fearsome era. Saw a pair of tabby cats frisking like monkeys on the roof of a log cabin, and inside a church as old and bent and low as the orchard outside, bearded priests sang benedictions over bags of flour and bottles of sunflower oil. Are these to be used for bliny in a few days? At lunch, through the windows of McDonald's, we watched busloads of soldiers and riot police smoking and milling on Pushkin Square... the bomb squad was there, muzzled police dogs... another demonstration seems to have fizzled before it began (the militia "response" precluded any provocation). Evening at home: wine, read several chapters of E.B. White aloud, fed the tipsy pigeon, bathed the girls.
1 comment:
first to have lived through this and then to have read about it here = happiness
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