Coming home from long expeditions is always bittersweet. That was my first winter expedition, and it was amazing. I've been there in may, but winter hits different, even if it's just slightly warmer than where i live. Wild horses, white mountain peaks, frozen rivers, the main Caucasian Range as a shadow against the red sunset sky, loud Caspian sea at night, covered by a black blanket of the sky. Long days on the train, filled with drawing, watching movies, laughing, and just... being myself.
This is the place where i can be excited by nature and it's little things as much as i want.
I can put my hands in the cold dirt, searching for the whale bones i've never touched, with a person i just met, and we'll be excited together.
I can find a cute jumping spider and let it rest on my hand - in the middle of winter!! - and it will be my little happy moment. No one will say it's weird.
I can make little gifts to people and later find them decorating their local stores with it, taking pictures and smiling.
I can play guitar and sing songs with my full voice, the way i only allow myself to do when i'm alone; i can ask endless amount of questions about geo and paleo things. I can simply be.
Myself.
Now i'm home, and i don't wanna draw again yet - i'm just slowly working on the bones i found, calling friends, and reading books. Coming home is trading a warm campfire in the mountains to a defeaning silence of the lonely apartment. But i'm still there. For once in a while, i'm glad to be.