my enchanted contemporary

The same year I was born in California, Ëzhik was born in Moscow. Yury Norshteyn created him out of 2-dimensional cut-outs, entrusted him with a jar of raspberry jam, and lowered him into a foggy night. The little hedgehog embarks on a journey and gets terrifyingly, blissfully, lost. He encounters danger, love, regret, exhilaration, hopelessness, and finally, a peaceful acceptance of his fate, which (spoiler alert) carries him safely to his destination. I'm never sure when it will happen, but about once a year I pass through a week or two when I must watch Ëжик в тумане every night before falling asleep, in hopes, I guess, of dreaming about a white horse or a very tall oak.