Urge a mountain or at least to climb a hill:
Behind me, power lines, which can only be serviced by helicopters.
Before me hills, beyond the sea.
The tracked vehicles have retreated, after having for months scratched bright scratches in the dark hills. Somewhere they are hiding. Only until the crisis is over.
Nature is in solemn silence that arises from a particular concentration: She works decided in taking forward the spring, so that everything is ready when the sun burns everything again soon.
This devotional concentration can swaths of Müllfeuerchen, Squad- and Kradmotoren affecting Böllerschießerei because of the resurrection of the Lord and the silly falsetto of dogs barking hardly. The silence lies down again and again about it, because it is stronger today.
I climb a mountain by a sea of flowers through which reaching up particularly favored points up to shoulder height. The lawn opens up and the touch of her leaves and flowers cools the skin; and I remember all those places, as they were too similar time, as the wind was blowing, and where you could stretch out.
And then I look from the hill in the distance and remember and see all this, and realize that there really is good again.
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Tags: Easter
