What a luxury it is, to write with nothing specific in mind, for no one in mind. To watch silently how the fields spread out before my eyes, covered with the first snow’s silver, how the birds soar to the sky where my conscious «I» gives way to a voice that knows where the truth is. There’s a short stretch from Christmas to Easter ahead of me, before the sun wheel makes another turn. There’s room only for the truth — the truth about who I really am, why the world is worth living in it, and how everything is good the way it is. About Providence which keeps our paths safe, about our dreams which always come true, about the fruits that ripen when the time comes. About the Spirit breathing where he wants, bringing the power to heal, to liberate, to resurrect. About how God is the one who comes in the end, when everything is said and done. About the power which is always with me, with you, in between us. About the holiday that will come and we will be surprised at how we could not remember about it. When snow will cover the plowed land and all warmth will be extinguished, a star will light up in the sky. Then everything that happened will turn out to be good as it was, and every voice will be heard in a song that will never end.