(Slowly rebooting the house in the garden: Fridge powered on again. Refilled some basic stocks. Cleaned some dishes, cautiously watched by a crow in the cherry tree. More noise, more life out here today. A warm wind in the bushes. Suddenly winter seems but a forgotten wink of an eye between two summers. Or spring as a season but even more a state of mind.)
10am and on. Inside, outside, shadows of the magnolia slowly coming to leaves again, birds coloured red and yellow sitting in the bushes behind the well, a few villagers heading for a walk in the forest. No sun, no rain, the morning's teaching a lot of different words for quietness.
A late ray of sun, through darkening clouds and like just before strong rain or dusk, whatever will come first. Reflections on the roofs. But no shadows. 6pm and unsure whether silence is echoing into or out of the day.
10pm and on. Moving quietly as if not to wake again the snoozing inner monkey, tired of continued jumping. The sound of heavy, bulky words falling off lines apparently doesn't suffice. At least.
Schließlich: Den großen hellen Mond beobachten, auf seiner stillen Bahn über Dächer und Viertel. Immer wieder staunend, immer wieder ehrfürchtig. Geschichten in die Muster deuten, die Linien um helle und dunkle Flecken, die flimmernde Luft zwischen hier und der messbaren unbegreiflichen Weite. Nicht zu sprechen wagen, nur vorsichtig atmen, selbst den wilden Strudel des Denkens für ein paar Sekunden zu bremsen versuchen, als könnte der kleinste Misston die weiche, spannungslose Stille von unter den Samthimmeln vertreiben. Anachronistische Fähigkeiten: Nicht das Schweigende mit sich selbst zu verlernen. Zumindest dann und wann.