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Today, at last, the cold has retreated, and I stepped outside. I have always loved winter and truly enjoyed it. But this year, it felt as though we had suddenly become strangers. All my familiar paths to the river had been covered over, and now I had to wade through snow that, in places, reached my knees. Much like my life right now. For a while, it has been a time of non-involvement, of simply observing. The paths I once walked have seemed buried and difficult to move through. And yet, there is not a trace of regret in me. It simply had to happen this way. I had to stop and remain exactly where I was — until the storms settled, everything cleared, the sun appeared, and I could see what is here now. More and more, I have come to appreciate this kind of pause — the stretch of time given to quiet down, to wait. To wait for what? First and foremost — for myself. Only now do I truly see how often I was running ahead of myself before.

I made my way down to the river. Such stillness. Not a breath of wind. Occasional snowflakes, as if appearing from nowhere, fall slowly and almost miraculously from the clear and sunlit sky. This moment is magical. Yet within the silence, new sounds begin to enter — and now I hear them not as a promise, but as a confirmation: movement has begun. The ice in the river cracks — a sound impossible to mistake for anything else. With it comes a feeling that echoes deep within me, and suddenly there is warmth. And in that warmth, I hear my sleeping heart beat faster — beneath the splitting ice, water rushes forward toward spring. 

This winter felt long and exhausting, with its piercing cold and all that was happening within me. And yet beneath the thick white blanket of snow, the earth is already awakening — because there is now enough light in the world. Everything is shifting, stirring. In the seeds resting in the soil, and within me. It has already begun. Soon… just a little longer… The path toward warmth within myself.

19.02.2026.