“...Two people are walking in the grass. An old monk walks, bent by days. His canvas cassock and skufya turn white. In the thin darkness one can see a wrinkled face with blue eyes. It shines with unearthly pristineness, heavenly silence. Such chaste pristineness can be seen on the faces of old Russian men. All the forest sounds, light and silence seem to be imprinted on the face of the old monk. And with him the bear. The monk’s hand is on the back of the bear’s neck. Cold smoke curls over the coarse wool...”