allure of distant places, blissful home

DE | EN

First days of April, the sun now almost high enough to reach the splintered white on the wooden window frames before noon. Shadow dance of the first buds. Tender greens, awaiting their awakening, a couple days earlier than the year before. Again. Time and space are changing – unintrusive, yet steadily.

15 degrees.

A puff of air. Rustling. Thoughts about the wind in the grass, golden light.

The gold is shimmering reddish on smooth round beans. Their scent promising small, but oh so grand bliss. Who was it, that sensed their secret first?
A clear sound of precision, weightless almost, gentle.

15 gramms.

How would it feel, to sink into sandy dunes now.
Feel their softness, before reaching the first tiny pebbles and fragments of shells, the most delicate breaking under my weight. Then the water: Always colder than expected, this brief moment unable to breathe, indecision – retrieve or further in
til the hollow?

A new sound in the background, a few more seconds, almost boiling, almost…

…hot water on ground luck. Bubbles appearing, dying at once. Do you remember the raindrops?
Thundery clouds. Meditation.

30 seconds.

Smells, thoughts, sounds, thoughts, habits.
Memories. Bliss.

The spray, the rumbling, the incoming surf – you can hear it long before reaching the cliffs.

Anticipation and presentiment, the known in the new, the new in the known.

The most wonderful kind of impatience.

Steam is rising, the sunlight turns the erratic dance into poetry.

Involuntary smiles, enchantment.

Drip by drip, soon…soon…now.

220 milliliters.

Ceramic cup in my hand, caramel coloured warmth, absorbed in thoughts.

The smell of oranges. The breeze carries it along its way. Luminous, full – I want to pick them, can almost sense their sweetness…

…I open my eyes: Blackbird and robin prying.
We recognise each other. We know each other.
Rituals, habits. They are always appearing together, these two. A quick chat on the fence.

I breath in deeply, take a first sip, I am home.