SUBURBAN TRACKS

Prologue

In one of these never ending arctic polar nights when only some ravens were loafing through the icy roads of Cape Dorset loudly cawing, the pretty hard polar wind had only one intention whispered at the next corner: I have to find the shaman of Nunavut to raise my question that why is the owl not that what it seems to resemble. But the shaman was very busy because he had an important appointment with the other world which cannot be found in a snow crystal or the sky with all its strange sparkling stars.

Shamanhunter, 2015, carving by Pitseolak Qimirpik

This made the wind quite upset, angry and naughty because the wind could never visit this special shaman’s world. So he embraced and fixed the shaman with his mighty icy robot-arms and blew him in a short moment which lasted less than a second all over the ocean…

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