Bunny 1: „I told you, we will be late for Easter. But noooo, exploring the tunnels your great-grandfather dug 50 years ago was more important than meeting your extended family and distributing a few eggs. Treasure, my woolly foot!“ Bunny 2: „We would have been back in time, had you not nibbled at those damn roots and gone chasing butterflies and giant carrots in your mind. You were hopping in circles and babbling for three days.“ Bunny 1: „But I was having so much fun!“ Pause. Bunny 2: „Wait, perhaps the roots were great-grandpa´s fabled treasure?“
Sträußchen Nr. 45
Häschen 1: „Ich habe es dir doch gesagt, wir werden Ostern verpassen! Aber neeeiiin, es war viel wichtiger die 50 Jahre alten Tunnel deines Urgroßvaters zu erkunden, als deine Großfamilie zu treffen und ein paar Eier zu verteilen. Ein Schatz, bei meinem wolligen Fuß! Häschen 2: „Wir wären rechtzeitig zurück gewesen, wenn du nicht an diesen verdammten Wurzeln geknabbert, auf einen Trip gegangen und im Kopf Schmetterlinge und Riesenkarotten gejagt hättest. Du bist drei Tage im Kreis gehoppelt und hast gebrabbelt.“ Häschen 1: „Aber ich hatte so viel Spaß!“ Pause. Häschen 2: „Warte mal, vielleicht waren die Wurzeln Urgroßvaters sagenumwobener Schatz?“
On a Monday after yet another weekend spent caring for others instead of resting, she reached a decision. Enough was enough, she was tired of life as she knew it. Weary and disillusioned she shut the door, turned the key and sat down to have a think. What did she want to do with the rest of her life? Sometime in the past she had lost her self. It had not happened as a sudden cataclysmic event, but slowly piece by piece. Repeatedly she had been given to understand that her person did not matter. She was suffered as long as she performed her duties – and whatever else was demanded of her – satisfactorily. If she did not, disciplinary measures came into play. Resistance was nipped in the bud. She had learned the hard way to disregard her needs, abandon her dreams and neglect her talents.
So the woman, who was not young anymore, pondered and wrote lists. Staring out of the window she noticed a bird, who was watching her intently with intelligent black eyes. Returning her gaze, the little creature sang a few notes and flew off. After mere moments it was back. The bird alighted on the windowsill, deposited a flower and flew off again. „How odd“, she thought. Her wonder grew as the robin repeated its actions and the pile of blooms grew to the size of a bouquet. Finally it dropped off a few leaves and disappeared. She had been given a gift.
I am city born and bred and yet I experience the passing of the year most strongly through events linked to nature. Feasts like Easter, Christmas or New Year mean nothing to me. But in late spring I wistfully wait for the arrival of swifts, because every time I hear their calls my heart soars. Their departure in early September elicits a bout of melancholy, as does the smell of woodsmoke. Another emotional turning point is the flowering of lilac in gardens and public parks. With the profusion of purple flowers and their heady fragrance comes the promise of sunshine and warmer days. Wanderlust sets in.
Ich bin in einer Großstadt aufgewachsen und dennoch messe ich das Fortschreiten des Jahres nicht durch Feste wie Ostern oder Weihnachten, sondern Ereignissen, die in einem Zusammenhang mit der Natur stehen. Im späten Frühling warte ich sehnsüchtig auf die Ankunft der Mauersegler, denn ihre Rufe lassen mich in Gedanken mit ihnen durch die Lüfte sausen. Dass sie schon Anfang September wieder in wärmere Gefielde aufbrechen, stimmt mich ebenso melancholisch wie der herbstliche Geruch von Holzfeuern. Auch die Fliederblüte in Gärten und öffentlichen Parks ist ein emotionaler Meilenstein. Spätestens wenn die purpurnen Blüten ihren betörenden Duft verströmen, packt mich die Wanderlust.