In a small village in the Republic of Moldavia, an old woman dies, leaving her son Petru and her granddaughter Anisoara behind. According to their tradition, the whole village mourns and bids farewell. After the death watch during a stormy night they make their way to the cemetary. The old men carry the heavy coffin over stony paths up to the sacred hill. The sun is high and the way seems endless, but against the thirst there is wine and against the grief there is singing. So in this landscape of paradisal beauty, joy mixes with sorrow and in the end, life stands above death.—Panihida