About the book: year / On a barely cold morning, the elderly archimandrite silently, slowly walked around the awakening monastery. The last cold attempts of a capricious March obscured the awakening power of spring. A chilly, piercing fog swaddled the entire distant expanse of the Big Fountain. Stopping at the Main Gate, the monk felt the earth hum: his weakening legs shook, and he clearly heard a dull crash rolling along the sea cliff. A rushing wind rose from the sea, dry land blew from the steppe; the haze curled into a bluish sparkling whirlwind, pierced the sky and disappeared.