(short story)

It’s winter. A blizzard is sweeping all the corners of snowy streets. Fluffy snowflakes fall gently on the branches of the trees. And only the smoke from the chimney is rising in a quiet stream. I look up and realize that a cold winter moon with bright stars is looking at me. I hear carolers walking near my grandmother’s house, and they are only 3 houses away. So very soon they will be singing carols on our doorstep. Silence does not exist here. Especially at New Year’s time. Silence is not about Khmelnytskyi.

I wake up during this period to the fragrant smell of my grandmother’s pastries, meat baked with spices, and homemade soup. These aromas cannot help but wake up the sleeping family. I still sleep soundly, but when I hear the carolers singing, I immediately get ready to receive them. This process is especially important for everyone: both the carolers and the families who receive guests and prepare money, and other goodies to give as gifts. I can already hear their footsteps. There are usually many of them, not three, five or even seven. There are always more than ten. They are cheerful, united and inspired in the moment. The oldest one always leads the improvised choir. But the smallest of all gathers the most people’s sympathy, so he receives the most gifts. But the whole company shares equally. Before they start singing, they hold their breath and are silent for a few seconds. And then these ten sonorous voices create an incredible symphony of Ukrainian carols. This is my favorite:

“Give birth, O Lord, to rye,

Give birth, O Lord, to rye,

For a new summer,

For a new summer!

Lord, bring forth plums!

Lord, bring forth plums,

To make them happy,

Make plums, Lord, plums!

If only you could hear this delight for the ears and soul… It’s awe-inspiring.

And then they leave happy, satisfied, and smiling. My family and I are happy too. We can hear the snow falling again, smoke coming from the chimney, and hear the carolers who have moved on. There is no silence in the Khmelnytsky region.