“Sorry, I don’t know where and when I learned to hear, feel and wait patiently like that. Maybe in a past life, about two hundred years ago, when my great-great-grandmother, being abandoned in Siberia, peered into the deep snow covers of the taiga and the white wasteland on long winter evenings, expecting at least some changes. She peered and listened, speechless at the mere thought that her time was breathlessly silent. Her princely blood awakened in me with a lingering knock in my temples. The unconquered, proud seed, thrown in a lean year, sprouted, wanting to gain its former strength...”