It is now ten years.
Ten years since we learned the ancient art of stalking, of navigation without a map or a compass, of surviving in harsh weather and treacherous ice.
Ten years since we discovered a late-born, white seal pup, lying in the remains of its melted den. Ten years since we found the simple pleasure of simple life, of food and heat hard-earned, of cooking fish every day and baking bread in a wood stove.
Ten years since becoming one with the vastness around, and being comforted by it.
And only too soon it will be ten years since we left it all and returned home.
I remember, still in March, ten years ago, I had dreamt that I am home again, not knowing how I got there, but crying and longing with all my heart to get back to that strange place of wilderness, because it was just too soon to leave it.
April sun is now shining on the icy armor of Baikal, but the pasque flowers are already in full bloom. And I am not there.
And so I cry again. This is how dreams can come true. All of them…
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curious
hopeful
working
