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The wind rustles the leaves among the mountain rocks. Silence whispers to you among the high mountains about eternity and the inviolability of being. You only hear the echo in the mountains. You are alone. In this silence you are alone. This silence is endless. These mountains are eternal. These rocks are unshakable. And this wind is eternal. But you know it's not. You feel like you're alone in this silence. Actually, you are not alone. You have always been with this wind, with these mountains, with the whole world. You were happy with them. Now you are alone again. As always. Only now this loneliness seems endless. Everything was so long ago that it seems that it did not exist at all.

On the border of warm and cold

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There is one mountain. One slope gives you warmth and enjoyment of the blue sky, the other is cold and silent. There is nothing definite. There is no absolute black and white. There are only shades that we are trying to recognize. How can you be sure it's the right place if you've never seen it.
art
painting

On the border of warm and cold

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