I march the Siberian steppe in my leather boots and my hunter's cap. I can see the gentle mist in swathes over the land and the air is like crystal, frosty and keen. The first fingers of daylight are seeking to commune with the life of the forbidding terrain. The trees are stalwart and silent, timeless custodians of the wilderness and the boggy earth. As I wander by the side of the lake, I can see tadpoles and small fish sporting in the shallows. I inhale the picturesque scene as though it were an elixir affording new life and new sustenance. I wander through this peripheral domain like a lost ghost, not knowing what I seek and bereft of any other emotions than loneliness and a vague but genuine love of all that is. I don my headphone nd enter the land of musical dreams, opening sundry Russian Gateways... 🎵
