Lent is in the air...

                "... dawn goes down to day
                Nothing gold can stay"
                (Robert Frost)



Time flows differently when you live in the Land of Long White Cloud.
But you don't notice or appreciate it.

Of course, there are seasons.
We do say "Oh, look at those cute young lambs, we must be in spring now".
Or - "So foggy today. The winter is almost here".

But we hardly ever experience the true season changes in this part of the world.

The grass is always green, and so are most of the trees, and when some plants,
trees, shrubs cease flowering, others pick up the estafette,
so it's never-ending flower season, despite gusty arctic winds and torrential
showers in winter.

Not so when you move to an old town surrounded by forest patches and rolling
meadows, somewhere on the Central Russian Upland.

The whirl of amber and ruby maple leaves picks you up and almost lifts you off
the ground, knocks you off your feet, blows you away... "La feuille d'automne.
Emporte par le vent...."

Crispy, sparkling snow is very painful to look at — but this does not take away your joy.

Can joy be painful? Can pain be enjoyable?

March blue. The Sky is so high, so bright, so promising, so intense.
Silent, but ready to burst with the myriad of sounds at any moment — just waiting
for a subtle movement from The Great Conductor.

Time of the Great Lent. Hopes we have. Vows we make. Will we keep them?

Or will they fade away as the wind of new life season carries us on...?