On one occasion Dmitry Pirkulov invited me to an airport, where he was going to train flying, and I could see how he was doing. For some reason I was curious and – off we go.
Dima flew away, but, like Karlsson from the roof, promised to come back. While waiting for him, I watched closely the two old immobilized An-2 planes, to be exact, the traces of time on their paint.
The planes were painted several times, and the paint layers were getting cracks differently, forming rich surface patterns, especially pronounced in the early sun rays.
Studying the surface with a macro lens, I arrived at a feeling, that this was a world of other dimensions. Occasionally I called it a world of an ant. I cannot see the roundness of the Earth while standing on its surface, and I cannot see the cracks and colors of the paint, if I look at the planes in their entirety. Endlessly big stuff, like endlessly small stuff, is quite far from us.
And then Dima came back, and we had dinner.