Alina Morozova was a writer born in Aurora, a small town on the banks of the Northern Dvina River in the county’s northwest corner. Aurora was insignificantly small, like many other equal-minded rural cities in the country. For Alina, growing up along the Dvina River meant winter lasted nine cold months, and the snowy landscape of the White Sea was the ever-present setting in her short stories. Everything changed during the last days of spring in 1989. Daydreaming, riding a taxi home along the river banks, the dawn’s marshmallow sky promised a new chapter.
“Every summer story,” she thought, “is a tone-rich version of a life I can create, on my own, in my own way.” Alina took a deep breath and turned her head to look out the left window of the taxi. “You are a gifted writer with a delicate sense of dialogue and drama,” Matvey had said as he’d helped Alina into the cab’s backseat. “Follow the story. In the end, you will have a visual manifesto of your creative freedom.”
Alina didn’t want to say goodbye to the moment, didn’t want to wake up, cherishing the feeling of newborn hope.
Based on a short story by Ana Saliy