I am a city-bred person who cannot live in the city. I understood this ten years ago when felt a desperate urge to move out. As deep into the country as possible. Ideally in wintertime, when the fields and the forests are hushed by the snow, when the lives of all that lives: of people, farm animals and wild beasts, as if transcend their habitual routines. White silence. Especially this winter. In recent years it has become rare as even the bitterly cold Arctic winds give up in the uneven battle of climate change. The silence has not disappeared, though, but it is not always white. And yet there is nothing better than the crackle of burning logs in the stove in the early morning hours, a mug of hot coffee in bed and another hour of daydreaming until the room warms up. It's like being suspended in another dimension. And another day of my life begins.
Photos of me are by my friend Irma Sujetovaitė Gineikienė.