Summary

This is a strange little place, where in winter, among the snowdrifts and frozen ice waterfalls, it is very warm. Men and women half-dressed, heated. Their movements at the machines are perfect - fast, rhythmic, precise, like a dance. The relentless rumble of cars is like music. Such an impeccable harmony between people and mechanisms that they seem to be something single, whole, a continuation of each other. Only for moments does a debugged endless action interrupt: someone thinks, or wipes sweat from his forehead, or sits down to breathe. People at this factory in the village of Smilovichi near Minsk make felt boots, which are then sold around the world.