Growing out of themselves, meeting themselves new. Fearing and stumbling. Looking inside. Touching. Accustoming to loneliness. Afraid. Playful. Seeking a teacher and the meaning of life. Finding a fragile contact with homeland, trying to find support in the roots by playing their parents in childhood. Two different worlds — the silence of Saburiha after the rhythm of Moscow — that have found a common, discarding everything far-fetched, turning to the primeval. Vesta and Vovka — they are my nephews, Velimir is my son. They spend every summer together living in an old wooden house in a small village. And those three summer months are fully our time and our own world. I look at them, studying the place of growing up of their parents and looking for answers. They find the same toys and the same clothes, instinctively reproducing the same situations without even knowing about it. They look at old photographs, other family artifacts and places of power, learning something new about the history of the family and perhaps about themselves, connecting generations.