Winter drifts into dream, and from its slumber-slackened grasp slips Spring. It falls, warm and bright, thawing sky and city, and the towers of Kaunas emerge from their gray prison to be kissed by the sun once again. Features unfrozen, their long shadows slide down every street, their presence unmistakable on every observable horizon. But it is not merely their height that commands attention; it is their mien. They stand as neither gods nor guards, but as concrete epitomes of stoic grace.
On questions posed by doors, windows, and gates
A door is closed, but I am not denied. A gate is open, but I am not encouraged. A window is broken, yet no one and no thing crawls through. Doors, windows, and gates are not merely functional apertures that allow passage; they are peculiar tools of communication, symbols whose meanings are often uncertain until we seek to open them. Are we to be permitted or punished? The question is in the unspoken invitation–the answer can only be discovered in the attempt.