Urge a mountain or at least to climb a hill:
Behind me power lines that can only be serviced by helicopters.
Before me, hills, behind the sea.
The tracked vehicles have retreated after they had for months scratched light scratches in the dark hills. Somewhere they are hiding. Only until the crisis is over.
Nature is in solemn silence that arises from a special concentration: She is determined 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 barely. The silence lies down again and again about it, because it is stronger.
I climb a mountain by a sea of flowers through the reaching up particularly favored places to shoulder height. The meadow is opening 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 it really is good again.
