Epigraph to the painting “The Fish of Time”

When the winds begin to play, the world shifts,and the skies turn into mirrors of dreams.Those who carry the Fish walk not on earth —but upon the breath between what was and what will be.
Each step — a throw of the dice,each glance — a chanceto open a new current.
The Fish whispers:“Time does not flow — it listens.”
And then everything that had been asleepsuddenly blossoms into a flower.