Watching Old Believers. The stark black and white is so dreamlike and enchanting. The grainy quality. The horses near the swamps, the fiddler, the women all in scarves, and the ecstatic bell ringer. Mostly the horses. They were a dream. I could nearly hear their breath. I could gaze at that image forever. So winter reminds me of this kind of quiet loveliness. The warmth of black and white. The lyrical quality of the absence of color.
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