Steile Schrofen, sattes Grün, entfernte Rufe des Alpenschneehuhns, oder doch ganz nah? Das Gebimmel der Kühe, heiße Sonne reflektiert auf dreckigem Altschnee, Grate, Kalk, und kalte Seen.
Die undeutliche Silhouette als Hintergrund der Heimat an den Himmel gemalt. Schon beladen mit unzähligen Erinnerungen. Weitere werden gesammelt, manche eingefangen, mal mit Kamera, mal mit Herz. Mal mit Wanderschuh, mal mit Kletterschuh. Schafberg, Altmann, Schäfler, hauptsächlich den Massen auf dem Säntis entkommen. Ruhe im Biwak – bis der Wind pfeift. Ruhe im Kopf – bis die Beine weh tun.
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 weather turned. Temperatures are beginning to creep past 20 degrees. The bouldering gym has moved from second home to third home as work has now become my second home. It’s too much – but who would say otherwise? Sometimes it seems unclear whether I live life as intended – but who would say otherwise? But: Old hobbies are waiting to picked up again. Juggling balls have already seen the light of day, and 88 keys are waiting to be pushed again. Visitors are coming by the lake and we are delighted to host them. Yet, I have to find time to return the favor. Instead, we watch the birds coming back with memories from endless journeys across continents. And they bring back our wanderlust, to go out and explore, and enjoy, and soak up life.
A brief break to take a breath, a brake in life to take a step back, two steps onwards, as soon awaits the biting cold – so, take your skates, roll out and trust: yourself, and the ice shelf, through faded sceneries where bare trees house jaded starlings left alone within the snow, I am still watching, though, behind the door, while the world awaits outside.
It’s a calm morning. Fog encloses the island and mutes the distant cars. The sailing ships are all lined up neatly, one after another, swaying gently on the waves. Next to the ships, there are the bollards. They are lined up neatly as well, ready to welcome any new arrivers. And then there is Gustav, the black-headed gull.
Gustav occupies one of the bollards, but he isn’t the only one. Next to him are all his mates – also, of course, lined up neatly: One bollard, one gull. As it should be. Gustav is satisfied. That’s how he likes his mornings. That’s how he likes his bollards. But then, a new arriver appears. And Gustav knows that there will be turmoil.
Before he can prepare himself, the attack from high above is in full swing. A quick stroke with the wing, a brief chop with the beak, and suddenly his neighbor is tumbling to the ground. Before the attacker can seize his earned place, two distant acquaintances of Gustav are already brawling for the now empty bollard. Claws get sharpened, feathers are plucked, with every passing second a new contender joins in. A whole squadron of coots start to cheer on the warfare. The snide remarks of Carl the cormorant echo across the water. Herbert the heron escapes quietly. Gustav tries to be as inconspicuous as possible.
The calm morning has turned to chaos – as every day.
The number of black-headed gulls around the lake has dropped profoundly over the last 30-40 years, presumably by more than 70%. It’s ‘just’ a local decline and most gulls seem to relocate to other areas. Apparently one reason is the increase in water clarity that comes with a reduced offer of food. While the gulls have been seen as a real nuisance in the past, they are now missed by many.
A tempting shimmer,
often bright and sometimes dimmer,
tiny twinkles, shiny flickers,
mighty seas of jolly glimmer,
gently waving in the wind,
often aligned, yet intertwined,
thin blades on fire,
in shades refined,
ensnare the mind,
tether the eyes,
mankind inclined
to stay right here,
witness the rustling, bustling weeds,
small beads pinned by the sun,
a moment passes, all is gone.
Perhaps I am lagging behind a little with my all my photographs from the long summer; some photo posts are incoming. Perhaps I am also happy to have so many photographs so that I can keep on writing posts even if I don’t produce new ones. And, perhaps, I need a new format to publish my photographs after all.
Punkt im Dunkeln 