Actually it is for a Nordeuropäerin yes but somehow almost inconceivable that summer really is a summer and unbroken for weeks, even months can stop away.
Here, at the southwest corner of Europe is the summer, the average state. And whenever one is thinking: So, now it is cool - because the night awake time dewy and a couple of clouds on the otherwise clear blue sky draw - then brings the summer only a deep sigh, and again raised the thermostat temperature by a few millimeters. I never thought that I 49 ° C in the shade of times that "pleasant" place. Well, you know, everything is relative.
really make me humble here but plants. They can not "just" back out into the shade when the sun midday overcooked everything to soup. But they have found their strategies - for example donations to shadow each other. So-called "predatory pricing" is not really - why the country is vast and essentially empty. Instead, move the ladies and gentlemen, fennel, rock rose, cleaver and whatever else creeps closer together hold firmly to the condensate in the late morning - and avoid the Bactrian camels through impenetrable jungle to everything that makes a wide arc. Not to mention the jointly formed shadow roof: Shadowing you shadow me, I do. A real lesson in community building.
MenschIn might think such a sun-drenched country would be the height of summer time then a sea of ash. Well, it outweigh the earth colors, no question. Umber and ocher in all possible shades and formable, sometimes so deep that it looks like the country uncontrollable bleeding from a wound. Occasionally of such airiness that one might believe, the horizon is a tendency toward heaven, ready to fly on wings of ever-present dust. But then the sun falls into the sea and pours over everyone and everything with a light of beauty that is all red and glowing from within. And the trees are glistening in countless shades of green, silver, gray and black forest green, the eternal spring of plane trees, the whispering greenery of willows and alders, the stress with her finger branches of the few and unfathomable water areas, the cough drop colored green of fragrant eucalyptus and their soothing counterpart, the quiet green of cork and holm oaks. Greener than all the Central European summer green is the Green of the South, perhaps because it is not so ubiquitous, so much more precious and is usually found only in places where the water resides, hidden, and a rare beauty. And in between, like characters thrown a lost language, the black and gray, violet tree ancestors, without leaves, and how devoid of life but a living part of the landscape, black history engravings and Rauner, quiet handle in the soul.
dust-dry, this country and yet every night soaking wet. The houses are low and blue and yellow framed against the "evil eye" is said and wonders if this from the inside or outside comes. The people are small and proud in a strangely soft way, unobtrusively but hard to miss. Perhaps because there are so many of them do not.
And all around the unfathomable sea, queens blue, lapis lazuli liquid in a facing day. Full Gischtherden, steel gray and leaden to another time, a sure sign that the great ruler will now listen undisturbed to their own depths. Like the other sea creatures inside I have now - at least in the approach - learned to give to her unspoken words to be heard, to dwell on their shores and to bestow on me hand and flattering skeletons washed stones, which now to hundreds My Caravan crowd. And each visit is an audience from which I am satisfied out, my clothes to dry in the summer wind.
A stranger I am here with my wheat-blond hair, eyes burst from the heavens and milky white skin, which nevertheless has been a permanent Latte Macchiato shimmer. I like an exotic plant with rage out of my size from indigenous plants that do not know yet whether they will grant me refuge. And I speak in tongues, I myself am homeless and need to establish myself in the still uninhabitable. But I love before, and that's the best of everything.
makes me humble, not small, and suddenly expected to know what it's like to be immigrant, migrant. To the people from abroad in Germany I have to think, and quite naturally that can be one, as unfelt when a completely unsolicited as comes from, where it is located. And how different is because when a site changes. How hard it is, your own into a foreign language to cast because there's the treasure of the language which gives the being and felt the first meaning and substance. Interior Erstummen is not "Silence", uncertainty is not "Confusao. Only after admission-seeker is clear to me, What number to perfecting it takes to make the stranger to self and one's own to provide for negotiation. Time for a World language, Esperanto, perhaps together with what is best of all worlds is ...
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