Early spring in the monastery. Two monks go one after another along the yellow path and read something religious under the sound of a bell before the service begins. Behind them below is a green meadow with birch trees and Christmas trees. On the right is the river, right in front of us is the church, the hills. Evening, still bright sky, the setting sun on the crosses.
Look at the characters. Ahead is a young monk, tall, thin, slim. The black cassock hangs down in straight folds to the ankles. With a wide belt hanging on the cord key. A narrow elongated face, long light straw hair scattered over the shoulders, a cone cap leaves the forehead and ear open. The long fingers of the left hand easily hold a small artless book.
In the right half-handed hand a willow twig. He is followed in two steps by an elderly monk, by height – on the shoulder of a young one. He has a small hump, a wide baggy robe. Because of the hump in front, it is raised. The belt is hidden in the depths of the garment. Under the belt under a big colorful scarf. The busy fingers of both hands hold a thick, elegantly decorated book. Between the pages of a sprig of Christmas trees.
There is a stick under the left elbow. The black warm cylindrical cap is pulled over the eyebrows, and the kerchief worn under it covers the back of the neck and ears. Gray hair and beard glasses. As you can see, the details of one figure are literally the opposite of the other. The pairing and contrast is given in all other respects. Behind the old man are several tall, slender birch trees with sparse leaves at the top and one birch tree, a little hunchbacked in front of him. Behind a young monk there are a couple of birches: one straight, the other with a bend and forked.
There are two birch trees in front of the monk: one with smooth, the other with sharper bends. There are two coniferous trees behind the birch trees in the meadow: a fluffy low herringbone and a tall pine tree without the lower branches. Then there are two buildings: a tall, bright church staring into the sky, and in front of it a small squat red chapel. On the horizon a hill with a smooth slope on the left. On the right is a hollow and another hill cut off by the edge of the picture. There is a difference in everything, but everything is pervaded by one, one, people and nature: the unanimous rhythm of the movement of the monks, deepened into books, is all internally similar, obeying the dimensional sound of bells. Everything is ready for the sacrament of the conversion and attention of God.
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