Enjoying nature and photography.
one step back
one step gone
one step ahead
on the way to die
no way to lie
as a hidden crack
runs down my spine
breaking bones
aching mind
stumbling blind
through the sticks and stones
leave me out
leave no doubt
never grieve
relieve me now
entangled thoughts
unstable ground
strangled at their roots
and no more sound
all alone, all the way
maybe it's too late
soul is blown away
maybe it's all fate
Erinnerst du dich?
Ich sah den fernen Morgen: Heller Schnee an dunklem Firmament, ein Spiegel seiner selbst, klar und rein.
Ich sah die Dunkelheit: Aus dem Schatten getrieben, gewachsen in das Licht, und doch nur ein Schatten seines selbst geblieben.
Ich sah den stolzen Gang vor den Massen der Gleichartigkeit. 100 stolze Gänge, alle für sich allein.
Ich sah euch, versteckt im Unterholz, im Schatten der Giganten, in der Blüte der Zeit, ihr branntet aus wie leise letzte Sterne, und verschwandet für immer.
Ich sah dich, trotz deiner lautlosen Schwingen der Sehnsucht, gestrandet am fernen Strand. Zusammen mit mir.
Erinnerst du dich?
Be.
Be yourself.
Be by yourself.
Don't be what is expected.
Be honest.
Honest to yourself.
Träume muss man immer haben. Sie sind mir lieber als die Erinnerungen.
Sterne und Stürme, Gaston Rébuffat
The time of winter vegetables is over and suddenly there is a lot more than only cabbage: cucumber, green beans, salad, kohlrabi (why is this the correct English word?), and fennel. Especially on the island, things seem to grow fast. In accordance, April continued the temperature high of the first three months and brought us 30 degrees before my birthday. Just to plummet to zero afterwards. Thus, somehow here we are, still discussing e-fuels and heat pumps. So, instead of debating politics, we continued to learn a lot about birds. Most recent progress includes the effortless identification of the songs of the short-toed treecreeper, the willow warbler, and the Savi’s warbler – black birds and starlings are breeding in the garden, and the frogs intone their chants. I am ready for summer.
The plumage arranged
and each feather exchanged,
while yonder awaits
those who ponder and wait,
as wings are awaiting blue skies.
Drawn to the void inside
alloyed by sweat and tears,
in search for heavy feet
and pure joy on repeat.
I only fear the laziness
while trying to escape the years
to find instead the emptiness
out there, wide landscapes all around,
a place where thoughts do have no doubt.
Halb acht, die Nacht vorbei, der Tag erwacht, du bist dabei, die Dunkelheit wird weggefegt, Trübsal vergeht wenn man aufsteht mir dir, mein Kopf verdreht von dir, der Alltag lacht dank dir, schier unfassbare Lust zu lieben, leben, hier zu sein, Frust weicht, mir scheint mir gehts ganz gut, mir scheint dir auch – das tut ganz gut, just keine Zeit reicht aus mit dir im Haus, ich glaub durchaus da wird was draus.
In most places the twenty-four hours of a day are divided into day and night. In midst a lake there seem to be three phases instead: Fog, sun, and night. And the difference between fog and sun is no less than between day and night. The fog transforms every part of nature: Birds extend their sleep and wait for the sun to arrive; plants are cautious and don’t open up; all the tiny cobwebs are suddenly visible – tiny strings beaded with water pearls. A wet and moist world which is calm and peaceful. Photographers love fog. I love fog.
The hills around the Simancón mountain are rocky. Nonetheless, they seem to be teeming with life. The air is still chilly and the sun has barely risen above the horizon, casting long shadows onto the plains in the far west below. However, the clear sky already signals that temperatures will soon increase dramatically. We pass a lonely toad sitting in the middle of the narrow trail – it looks so wise it might just have the answer to any tough question we could come up with. Delicate flowers crane their necks in curiosity, marbled whites flutter between light and shadow, and a Black Redstart points us the way to the top. At lower altitudes groups of trees spent shade, but higher up the sun shines relentlessly and life seems to be withdrawn from the landscape more and more. Only a few chamois trudge along the ridges as if they are looking forward to an afterlife. The Sierra de Grazalema, a place I will gladly revisit.
When lights are out night sounds appear and overlay the gloss of days, thoughts cross, until a warbler, without fear, sings out his doubt aloud.
Punkt im Dunkeln