Fifth Journey Day 62: The Sketch That Will Fade

Date: July 9, 2025
Location: Soroca, Moldova

The light never fully arrived today. A gray veil settled over the town and stayed. I walked slowly from the guesthouse to the fortress. I wasn't looking for anything. I was just following the direction of the stone. Soroca Fortress looks like it's holding its breath: round, separate from the world, and plain. There were hardly any visitors. The woman at the counter looked at me but didn't say anything. I paid and walked in.

Inside, the air felt cooler, and the sound was softer. I stayed in the middle courtyard and looked up through the open circle of sky. The towers were symmetrical, but not perfectly so — some angles seemed slightly distorted by time or rebuilding. I traced my fingers across a wall that still had the same texture as it did when it was chiseled by workers long ago. Pigeons fluttered overhead, their wingbeats loud in the small space.

I thought something would happen, but it didn't. Then I realized that's what the story was trying to do. I wasn't here to be stimulated. I was here to stand inside an old shape, to feel the quiet mathematics of stone. There was a moment near the edge when I leaned over and saw the Dniester slipping past below, a thick green curve. I had the strange feeling that the river wasn't moving, but the land was.

Later, I sat on a short stone bench near the exit and sketched the repeating triangles of the tower roofs. The sketch didn't survive, since the paper was too thin and my pencil too faint, but the act of sketching was enough.

Dinner was simple: bread, cucumber, and soft cheese. I watched the sky go from pale gray to a deeper shade of blue, and then the edges disappeared.

Not every day needs to be explained. Some are just held — like a circle of stone, enclosing a bit of sky.