Bermukha
Автор: Primordial Echo
Загружено: 2026-02-13
Просмотров: 131
Описание:
Bermukha
From the sea toward the mountains, up along the river, the morning fog does not lift — it lies over the water like a dense milky veil, hiding the current and the distant banks.
Between the seashore and the high ridges stretch thick forests — dark, damp, almost untouched. The tree trunks are covered with moss, their roots intertwining like snakes, sinking into the soft soil. In the shade of the massive crowns, the air is colder than by the sea and smells of leaves, wet bark, and ancient earth. Light rarely breaks through, in narrow beams, and midges swirl within them like sparks.
Forest people live here. Their paths are almost invisible, their dwellings merge with the ground, and their fires burn unnoticed. They move softly, almost without sound — they are part of this forest.
From deep within the thicket come voices — long, drawn out, like wind between the trunks. Hunters sing. Their songs are addressed to ancient spirits and to the sacred oak, Bermukha. The voices rise and fall as if repeating the breathing of the forest.
Bermukha stands on a raised clearing, older than all the trees around it. Its trunk is wide and dark, covered with cracks where mosses and lichens have settled. The roots emerge outward, embracing the earth as if holding it from falling apart. The branches spread wide and heavy, reaching into the sky, bending like the arms of an old man, and at their tips the mist gathers, clinging to the leaves.
Beneath this tree the air is different — thick, unmoving. Here you can hear drops falling, bark creaking, and somewhere deep beneath the ground moisture slowly shifting.
“Your roots guard the whole forest,
your branches draw the clouds,
Bermukha, tell us of our ancestors.
Every path in the forest leads to you.”
The forest people sing to the sacred tree like martyrs of ancient faith. It holds within itself the memory of many generations and of times long gone. Here they know: nothing that has been ever disappears. It goes into the earth, rises into the leaves, and returns as song.
___
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Slow pulse, ancient rhythms, the breath of the earth, and the call of the ancestors.
A sound that guides you inward — to primordial memory and the silence between heartbeats.
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| tribal shamanic trance | ancient ritual drums | no words | deep meditation.
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