Dmitry Starusev

Folklore Expedition. Part 1: Woods. Part 2: Zelenograd. Donbass

There are woods beyond the steppe, there are woods beyond the steppe.
Before reaching it
I fall on the frozen grass
And fall asleep.
English folksong

What business have I in the woods, if I am thinking of something out of the woods?
Henry David Thoreau

The woods are devouring the old sanatorium building. It was painful to look at the suffering of this fragment of civilisation. I do what I can: by hiding what remains of the building from human eyes with a tarpaulin.

‘On raised ground near block No.1512, on the side near the shop, a group of birch trees stands by the road. If you climb this hillock, go to the central birch and look round, you may notice that you are surrounded by Pythagoras’ Theorem, or, if you prefer, the first premise of Fermat’s Last Theorem: correspondingly 3, 4 and 5 birches grow on the sides of an imaginary regular triangle of which you form the centre, where 3 + 4 = 5.’
I had the chance to lose myself in numbers.

I return home again: different years, different seasons, different days of the week.
There are no reasons for this return and I do it spontaneously, without any reluctance.

Once I have left my home I take everything with me.
Everything. These poplars and antennae. The view from the window. My autumn. The black factory in red light, but at only this time of year. People, trees, weather, the small death of a dog. A dead tree in winter. The city. Lenin Street. Filthy winter. Occasionally, falling snow. Emptiness. Running across the steppe to the sea.