There is no light comparable to April. It carries a kind of enchanting, optimistic uncertainty—like that of a bluffing poker player. It seems to promise spring, yet remains unsure whether it will be able to keep its promise.
April is the month that reminds us of spring. This year, I was surprised to realize that I had not even noticed when the snow had melted. When I woke up, it was simply gone.
I was in my favorite café, which seemed to have awakened together with me. The place was filled with a quiet joy for the day ahead.
В этот день мы с мужем много гуляли. Мы прошли огромное количество километров, не спеша, в увлекательных беседах на темы, которые были важны для нас обоих. Мы любим общаться и шутить, и в этот раз нам тоже было о чём поговорить.
Когда мы возвращались домой спустя долгое время, наши темы для разговора, как ни странно, не иссякли, а наоборот, их словно прибавилось. Нам было что обсудить из того, что мы увидели во время прогулки.
I love walking, traveling, and discovering new horizons. I crave vivid experiences, knowledge, and communication with interesting people.
It is especially meaningful that my love for travel is shared within our family, which is always ready for new adventures—sometimes even a little too ready.
I remember endless flights and days when you unpack your suitcase in the morning and are already packing it again by evening, because another flight is waiting at night. Or those wonderful moments when, the night before, we suddenly decide to go somewhere, quickly get ready, and set off in the morning. And along the way, we keep thinking of new interesting places to stop.
It’s a kind of energy and drive you never get tired of.
I am always full of energy and love for life. It makes me sad to see when someone cannot find joy in it, although, of course, everyone has their own reasons for that. But deep down, I always wish that people would enjoy life more, appreciate it more deeply, become more aware of it, and truly live it—rather than merely exist, deceiving themselves.
I barely had time to get used to March, and today it is already April.
I really like lanterns—from small garden ones to the large street lamps you can see on boulevards, in parks, and along roads. I cannot say exactly why they evoke such affection in me, but I suspect it is connected to the children’s song about the lamplighters from the film The Adventures of Buratino.
Someone might ask, “What is so special about them?” Perhaps there is nothing remarkable in them for some people, but for those who have heard that song, lanterns can reveal themselves in a completely different light.
I would very much like to see a real lamplighter one day.
There is no point in describing our conversations in detail—they were strictly personal and not always understandable to others, and for some might have even seemed unbelievable. As usual, I want to preserve fragments of what my eyes have seen, what my gaze lingered on when I noticed a special kind of beauty belonging only to that exact moment. Along with the thoughts that arose when I decided to take a photograph. I want to stop time, just to feel again that cool April air in which the breath of spring was already quietly present.
According to the calendar, it is spring—but it is still asleep. Its alarm is set for April.
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