Urwryt has been deeply depressed, he sure has a great power of concentration.
He has been soaking in the mud of rainy fields, not being disturbed by the potato harvesters, flying in the face of old crones and hags.
Urwryt is a real Finnish hero, still alive in his thirties,
he has raised his head up in the drizzle of agony and said without batting an eyelash: "I keep my head in hot situations, because there might not be anyone as tough as me around".
In the midst of a circle he cut in the grass he stands, like a mushroom giving magical powers to the passers-by, like the one who knows better the thunderstorms. He is a Finnish hero, he drinks hard liquor. He drinks virgin's milk. Pine resin adorns his curls, he wraps spider webs around his shoulders 'cause he's close to nature.
Disrespecting nature takes its heroes in its order of humiliation,
pulls the pegs out from their kneecaps, so that they fall down on their thighbones,
draws the barbs out from their palms, leaving them to tear their hair without fingers.
It sucks the fat out of their breasts, rips the pile off from their ears,
erodes the neck-height, turns in the mouth-corners.
"Let's see then", says Urwryt with some menace in his voice, "let's see it, us being all in the same position. Let's see, how we will wrestle without muscles, quarrel without memories, wag our tails with injured joints and try to fly, like featherless dusters, powerless, filthy".
Urwryt sees a bear and wants to do it at once, he has been short of screwing for too long, even a fork of a tree makes him wild, the swinging skirts of hay along his path. The swamp is so lovely wet here, and the bum-ble-bee, with its rostrum, heavens, such debaucheries, ain't it ashamed? In desperation, Urwryt kills the bee in the hollow of his hand; sees a bog rosemary on a tussock, oh, my bog rosemary, what a name you've got, mash rosy my marshmallows, rouge mary roué, rod bawd molly...
Urwryt is all upset and staggers, how would it feel if I'd pull out the teeth of a snake and let it swallow my dick, what if I'd put my balls in a willow warbler's nest, what would happen if I'd tie a young elk to a tree, fuck it from behind, would it make the big horny mama antler-head crazy?..
Honey flows from the moss, the foamy lava oozes from the pores of a pine, a knothole keeps quiet as Urwryt cries with pain, sticks again and again, a crown of the pine sways groaning, cones lodge on the ground,
with bare hands Urwryt strangles the pine and the top of it breaks off, the huge spirit of the pine wails, leaks out, escapes;
Urwryt thanks awfully indeed,
vanishes from sight.