A warm morning in a magical street in the village, low houses and huts in ancient monochromatic colors, a gentle old man with a cap and a long white beard down to his belly, holding a white cloak that is placed on his head and falls to his knees, At the bottom of the cloak across its width there are some black stripes, thick and thin, and white threads fluttering at its four ends, he walks slowly with an open book in his hand