"... And he imagines a swamp, where under the duckweed, under a three-meter layer of compacted corpses of moose, wolverines, wolves, foxes, squirrels, chipmunks, stands the Black Church. And pale blue lights are burning in its windows - the candles of the dead. And she expects that one day old Boris will be late and will not have time to leave the forest before the end of Easter. And her power will never dry up."