a winter poem
the flakes dancing wildly back and forth, again and again up and down, small snow particles, which tell us hopsend and shouting of their release. finally, they may swirl around enchant the world and cover the trees gently.
next stop, studentenwerk. the faces of the waiting people are quiet, calm in himself, almost bedächtigt. the sad faces of the gray November days are seemingly never been there, no one really looks grim. soothed the souls of the snow and embeds us in soft cotton mattresses. It is cold, but not disgusting, it's wet, but comfortable.
I look out the window and watch with joy floating in the human heart. The streets seem more lively and filled than usual, this is probably as busy as ever. and during the natural sleep begins her long, locking the man continued to pave its unnatural. work, uni, everyday - There is no rest, no recall, no rest and recuperate. while pet bed to sleep and the world for months on and her whistle drive, while many living things in their deepest inner core to withdraw, and then stare into her pause, while the deafening snow the landscape conceals soft as butter - whistle while all that the man on the natural rhythms and shall not be retired, but continues its social trotting.
whatnot due to a wrong line after this Zschertnitz. I'm concerned. I wonder what I as a director of a school would hold today. I would probably first all students in the large Community space can assemble and convene a consultation, what to do with the snow. if you melt it and cook soup out of it could be? I do not think this is a good idea, but thanks for your expression willy. one would have to build a snowman, and hold a huge snowball fight, against students and teachers if the teachers do it, lather all students so that they may give up, then a stay at home for weeks. of course, not create them and so win the students must also get and a few large carrots and coal for the giant snowman, who would be responsible enough for this task?
bang, bus stops, The doors swing up and I'm back on the bus, which is slightly hot mulled wine schwappert on the cup rim, the ouch. I remain, but only briefly here, I hardly look into the weißgüldene landscape, which rushes past me, spinning my thoughts back directions in the wildest. I watch as an elderly man seated blazes his way through the folding doors and the first-best.
snow in winter. winter, the peace and quiet, out,. live winter, old, death. feels like one old man who knows he has experienced everything in his life and is ready to die, but do not want to wait on death? if you can because the blades together poverty and we plunge into the most daring adventure? it can one anyway nothing happen to die you do anyway, and if it should happen sooner, because you place in the covered bed in front of him added vegetate the parachute Über'm not grand canyon aufbekommt ... well, then that happens. constantly on the run from the family, it is so close to the heart, the one they do not see them die, even though it would be best for oneself. or you can enjoy the last days with his sweetheart, and then fall asleep happily alongside each other ... hm, is somehow not so easy to be old.
mind wander back. I smile, thinking of the past winter, to adventure in the snow, in the childhood stories of all white Velcro. You never forget your first kiss, the first apartment, or other health-only situations. and each year, each year's new one is on the first snow a warm feeling flow up note in itself. maybe not everyone, but I remember very well. It starts slowly, the cold there is quite broken even in the hands, feet, the. once but has the body of the summer passed final (maybe he comes again?) as soon as it is certain that we endure now has for months, starting the tunnel vision is clear, and the warm message of last season passes through the heart of my body, my spirit, my soul: this is the end. look around, what do you, what do you remember? a chimney in my heart starts to burn, and rocking me gently into the winter trance, whispering to me: a child and engage in the snow was.
I jump up and stride with a smile through the door, out into the chilly reality of Dresden. I would now like to by the jump snow and the stupid look dealcoholized not child pulling on me, she beschmeißen with snow, loud giggling and cackling, spend me completely and then cheeks with crimson in a warm little room set, hot listen drinking chocolate and stories that the bearded grandpa sweater in wool trick me to tell, then the winter, oh god, you know you know how high the snow was there? sooo high ...
I cross the street and plan my day and inside the to-do tasks. There is no room for play. shame really.
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