The voice of the hegemon growls from an old radio. Propaganda plays the march of war, the people are applauding. Regardless, an old woman does what she has always done in autumn: she heats the stove, prepares herbs and spices, boils water and arranges her preserving jars. With powerful lungs she blows discipline and order out of rhythm. And with no time to lose, she preserves the source of evil airtight between tarragon and dill. Let winter come.