It's about a slow-paced and quiet, solitary pilgrimage of a passionate photographer, with stopovers to contemplate the wonders of nature and one's own Self.

I'm afraid, for the time being my BLOG can only be read on PC,

while WIX and I are trying to amend it.


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A Breakthrough

I‘M UP EARLY. Peeking at the dark window now and again. Do I really have to go? I‘m somewhat doubtful. It is only five o‘lock in the morning, freezing cold. Why would I want to walk in the dark, across the fields and through the forest! Even if I know the way. It is not far. I am not taking Foxy, my dog, as she might disturb the wild beasts making their nightly rounds. I must break the ice after a long cold winter and resume my photography hikes at dawn. I must get back into the groove. This is far from easy after months of a very basic routine: my bed – translation work – sheep feeding – translation work – my bed again. I hesitate just a little longer, making strong sweet tea in my thermo

Back to Reality

What a cliché! The title is hardly an eyecatcher, but I cannot help it – such are our lives. I HAVE JUST submitted a translation of a very very long novel. It took me a few months to complete it. Every time, when I finish a translation of a book and after I post it to the publisher, I feel as if I‘ve resurfaced from very deep waters and am gasping for air: ‘Air! Air! I need more air!’ It takes me a few days to adapt to normal life, to come back to reality. Often you have to stop and think for a while what chores you usually do at a particular time of day – such can be the power of the story which has held you in its embrace for months. And the better the story, the deeper you plunge into it

Arctic Cold II: The Remarkable ‘Lightness of Being’

Photo: The remarkable 'lightness of being' in Wales, Jan. 2018 THESE are the last days of the perishing Siberian cold that has ravaged the whole of Europe, but the merciless easterly wind stings you to the bone and would not allow to savour the idea that spring is on the doorstep. I‘m sitting at my computer and trying to concentrate on the text, but I can hardly type anything intelligent with my stiff fingers. It is as though my neurons have been covered in frost and are unable to transmit any information from the brain to the fingers. This temporary standstill, however, brought about by the cataclysmic weather, gave me time to ponder over one thought which has been nudging me for some time: