Wintereason • Ambyroad

Wonder, how much time is spent in the road? In a global sense – highway, rustle of tires, water splashes from under the wheels, or snow... The road as part of life, the inner state of each. Whether it is a road to job or back, in any weather, when time goes in parallel, and summer gives way to autumn, then winter – so year after year. The road as a path for jogging in the early morning. The road as an evening walk arm in arm with a beloved, a quiet conversation about everything and nothing, or simply go along and silent. No need for words when feel the pulse under fingers, thus happy only because she is near. There are self, she and the Universe... The road as a bike ride through the bustling city along the yellow line, which is especially for such and others. Or a dirt road outside the city – a field, then a forest, climb a mountain, get off the bike, take a breath, frame the face to the sun and wind. The moment when one-on-one with a world, which is down there, is too big, does not see, does not know; but see, hear, feel it. The road as a ski trail – a forest on the sides covered with frost, traces of hares or a wolf, and rare surprised birds stare down from the branches. Careless movement to become covered with a cloud of snow... When the lungs are tingling from the frosty air, it is realized that one can breathe only here, feel the fatigue from the gray streets of the city with a full chest. The road as a serpentine stretching far upwards, beyond the clouds, where the mountain peaks sleep. The road as the Milky Way, which is walked in a dream, touching the stars with hands... And the journey begins again...