As I was leaving, the sky burst into blue. As if it had waited until I was gone. I chuckled. So, I had made the right decision.
24 Aug 2026
—
The rain didn't stop. The grayness didn't lift. But by the morning of the second day, I realized: I didn't need clear skies. I needed this: wet sand, the smell of the lake, silence without communication.
24 Aug 2026
—
You sit in a tent, listening to the drops trickle down the awning. Thoughts come and go, unanswered. The lake breathes evenly—quietly, without disturbing.
23 Aug 2026
—
Rain greeted me immediately. Gray sky, gray water, a tent on wet sand. The sky didn't promise a break in the light. And there was something right about that—no illusions, just being.
22 Aug 2026
—
I was planning to go one way. I went another. I almost didn't go at all—but my backpack was already packed, and canceling would have been stupider than going.
21 Aug 2026
—
— What are you singing about, shungite? — About what I have seen: about mists, about stars that fell into the water, about eternity, which is closer than it seems...
24 Jul 2026
—
And the surface, the texture... different every time. And every time it pulls you in.
03 Jul 2026
—
Everything's like fog. Still, you don't let go. You believe. Dream. Imagine new things.
01 Jul 2026
—
Sent out so much. Nothing comes back. Silence.
01 Jul 2026
—
Shungite absorbed the sound of waves, the whisper of the forest, and the spells of the wind.
18 Jun 2026
—
I need to force myself to do something. I've got almost no strength left, and no desire either.
11 Jun 2026
—
It's been more than five weeks of doing almost nothing. It's driving me crazy.
08 Jun 2026
—
Light changes faster than form can adapt to it.
02 Jun 2026
—
Some works wait years for their final form.
02 Jun 2026
—
Silence does not always mean the absence of sound.