past/present

“May I?” I hear these words and imagine myself to be at a dance of 19th Century high society here in Kislovodsk, candles enlightening this beautiul decorated ballroom, young soldiers in elegant uniforms, myself in a stunning dress … oh well, you know all this clisché fairy-tale-story and “May I?” actually “May I offer you my hand for a dance?” and we dance and we dance on forever (without any wicked mother-in-law, or any money problems, actually without any problems at all as this fairy-tale-wonderland).

“May I? You stand on my rucksack and I must leave at this station.”

Air bubble exploding.

I’m in a crowded bus in cold winter 2021, we’re in corona-modus so everything f* and a man has turned towards me, his voice not transporting so nice feelings as any of my handsome dream soldiers. I move aside and he gets off.

Did I just miss my personal fairy tale? As these eyes! Why do we need to wear all thesee masks when they hide almost the whole face – I want to see the rest of him.

“Hey, wait…”

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Hope/Dream

a great ocean

of unknown future

lays in front

of us

all

we are in

danger

of losing

us

get

soaked

in

we feel

our feet

losing

the ground

we are in

a swirl

a wave

touches

us

lifts

us

up

we open

our eyes

and

see

what

now

lays

in front

of

us

we hope

we dream

we are

.

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La Belle Dame sans Merci

“Look, Miss, two beautiful elks over there at the waterfall.”

“It’s Madame, boy, and beautiful? Oh yes, you’re right, you can make beautiful flur hats from their skin, can’t you?”

Why I remember this episode from so many years ago when reading La Belle Dame sans Merci from John Keats? Oh well, a beauty face doesn’t mean you’re beautiful inside.

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Forest Walk

There would be so many words to

describe this forest walk we made

this day/this season/this so special year.

I could describe how

we laugh, what

we see, that maybe

we cried, or

we kissed, how

the air

dances

in our

lungs,

what

we discover, how

we

….

But the only word I have

for this forest walk

is

gratitude.

Autumn 2020

From my forest walk today (well it was in a park but felt like Canada during Indian Summer…)

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Time

“My word for you is Justice.” She doesn’t turn towards me but I see that something has changed. She looks outside the window. Towards the fields. The clouds. The invisible sun.

She doesn’t say a word but I feel that justice is a different word, world for her than for me.

And I strongly fear thar, if she was old enough to vote now, her choice would be another one on 3rd November than for me.

R.I.P. Ruth Bader Ginsburg

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I miss traveling.

So simple as that is life in Autumn 2020.

In 2020 from March 13th on.

What is left are memories

and small treasures

small trips to unknown/known places that don’t sound as exotic as Bali and Co. but that are much more Heimat

or day-dreaming yourself away

visiting Coventry via postcard?

why not? In 2020, not the places count but the feelings inside hear/mind/soul.

P.S. I know the picture needs to be turned around but WP changed layout and I’m happy to post anything, putting a picture right is out of my knowledge yet.

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reflection

I see my reflection in the aquarium’s window. If I didn’t know I was tired to the bone, I’d see it now. When did I go to the haidresser’s the last time (for myself, not for my children); and is there ketchup on my worn-out-T-shirt?

When I see my 40-years-old-me, I remember when I visited the Oregon Coast Aquarium the first time. We two hadn’t any time, nor desire looking at the animals, so much we kissed.

The next time I visited there was no one to distract me – we had broke up the day before (for which silly reason did we I’m asking myself now. and where is he now? who does he kiss, or does not?). But I couldn’t look at the sea otters, they had moved to another zoo because of construction.

But now I’m able to see them, and I do.

Who cares that my two little ones play hide and seek in the other room, and that have start screaming? The cute sea otters make me smile; at least I get a smile today.

When all I really want is a deep, long kiss.

To feel as a woman, and not as a tired mum, again.

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Himmugüegli

“look, there’s a hummigüegli. Isn’t it beautiful?” I turn around, half expecting him to point to one of the mountains in the far distance, saying again something in Bernerdeutsch that I can’t understand. But he looks at a lovely flower, takes something in his hands, and what towards me. “Here, look – a hummigüegli.” “Ah, you mean a ladybug.” He smiles. “Yes, doesn’t it match perfectly – the great mountain’s sky and a lovely lady at my side. Am I not the happiest person on Earth?” I have no other answer for him than to kiss him.

Hummigüegli is ladybug in Bernerdeutsch (Switzerland)

himmu for heaven
gueg for bug
güegli for little bug

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le bonheur

i leave (him),
leave the crowded streets,
walk on,
breathe in
and
out

on the door,
it’s written
le bonheur est simple

maybe it is as simple
as this

to walk away
and

***

les mots
(ses mots)
le ciel
(les autres choses)
les mains
(ses mains)

le bonheur
est simple

.

***

c’est nuit
j’étends rien
je suis calme
le ciel
les étoiles

quelque fois
c’est si simple

trouver
le
bonheur
.

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vivacious

when you wrap me
up in paper
of luxus and noise

while i want
to sleep
under the pure and speechless sky of stars
.

***
I got this postcard from John from Georgia with the word “vivacious” as inspiration. And he wrote that “I suspect this decribes you”. This postcard then reminded me of a conversation we had during lunch break at work a while ago. Topic: how do you envision to have your engagement? I don’t remember how we ended up speaking about engagements/weddings (which guy actually sucked it up) (oh well, now I think it was something about the size of the ring) (or was it about the place he choose to ask “the” question of all questions?) Never mind – at one point, I just said that “well, that would be like inviting me to the Eiffel Tour restaurant for a fancy dinner and then ask me if we want to get married, super-luxus all around us, when I probably have my most crappiest but comportable hiking boots on”. What I want to say: Hasn’t everyone ever had the feeling that some people believe to know us while they actually don’t? To sum it up: My writing might be vivacious sometimes or most of the times but I’m not. Not at all. Or maybe I am and don’t know it myself. Well, I’m twins as star signs, maybe that says it all ;-)

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