Fifth Journey Day 57: The Bag in the Branches

Date: July 4, 2025
Location: Ivano-Frankivsk, Ukraine

This morning, the arrival felt relaxed. The train moved slowly through the countryside. When I got off the train, I felt like I needed to relax and take it easy. Ivano-Frankivsk isn't large, but there's a fullness to its stillness — buildings with long shadows, yellow trams that squeak as they turn, and people who walk without rushing.

I spent part of the morning walking uphill to the old Jewish cemetery. The path was uneven, and it was lined with trees that seemed too tall for the space. I didn't bring my sketchbook, but I did have a small pencil stub and some folded paper in my coat pocket. I found myself standing in front of a stone with moss on it that was leaning over. The writing on the stone was hard to read. There was nobody else there. The quiet wasn't sudden or unexpected — it was just a quiet that settled rather than echoed. I noticed how certain stones leaned into each other, or away from the path, as if trying to disappear.

I sat on a low, broken slab of stone. Its edges had softened over the years due to weather and time. From that vantage point, I could see the tips of trees moving slightly against the pale sky. A small plastic bag drifted past, catching for a moment on a branch before floating on.

What I couldn't forget was the feeling that these stones, which were once a mystery to me but had become familiar, were still holding something. It's not about memory, but about being honest. Nothing fancy. Just be strong and don't say anything.

I came down slowly, not because I was tired, but because it felt wrong to rush. I didn't make a painting today. I think I needed to observe the kind of presence that doesn't ask to be interpreted.

I might start something new tomorrow.