Hello to you! Here nearby, in the midst of the bird's whistle and the unobtrusive whispering of the wind, as if lighting the green waves of the berry grove with a bagel, giving the heat like the summer sun at the height of the swollen, thirsty July summer, blowing out light smoke like the rising fog from the spread of the lake at dawn, frightening the forest inhabitants - working bobs, wise hives and careless whistlers, the house-museum of Prishvina burns. There is no need for firefighters anymore.