And again, the winter is trying to take over the wonderland from the sun.

Four flights, dozens of busses, thousands of kilometers. Lots of dirt, sweat and smile.

It all became to my mind when the sky revealed itself behind the clouds on this lazy Saturday afternoon. I would like to carry on the trip, continue to take the footsteps on those less travelled paths. But we are not yet there. I haven’t reached the destination where my day dreams are forcing me to go.

Time weights down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to slip through it. But even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won’t be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there - to the edge of the world. There’s something you can’t do unless you get there.

- Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Helsinki, Finland

The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory.
- Henry Bergson, Matter and Memory

Here again. A wandering star found its way to the home. But so much he is waiting to fly to Eastern Europe. Only to arrive again, and again. A day before depart, a night after dusk and a dream before truth, he is waiting to travel with eyes closed. With other stars showing the light, he is anxious to see, to hear, and to depart. Depart, only to arrive and depart again.