A wooden hut,
Gold shines upon the icons.
In the quiet still, an old woman recites prayer,
A storm is brewing.
Darkened clouds form an assembly,
which covered the deep blue heavens.
Behind the river, behind the spirit of the land,
The pine forest moans exhausted.
Turbulent winds lash out over the hut,
violently breaking shutters from their hinges.
Again, the old woman prays,
I am ready. Now. I am ready.
Thunder roars in the sky,
Clouds pass rapidly,
The forest moans again.
The old woman recites prayer,
I had faith knowing you'd come.
A knocking at the hut's door,
The long awaited rain. Arrived.
Composed by a Palekh Artist: Yevgeniy Zhiryakov
Translated by Paul Tyutin and Tony Bonacorsi