Live your life every day as best as you can. I end up in the public gardens of this city.
Thinking about how I got here. I can’t remember. Blackout. Well, that’s a possibility.
Yesterday drunk so much that the memory drowned. Ok, just don’t panic. I learned that from my grandfather, while he was still walking this earth.
Like me here in these gloriously blooming gardens.
Wonderfully flowering. It’s January. Everything must be frozen, flowers and trees. January everything in bloom?
Did I escape to the south? In the southern hemisphere? There is summer in January. Or not? The thought calms me down.
I must have booked a flight. A long trip. And have been drinking on the plane, until I was gone.
But how did I get into this garden?
Incidentally, my grandfather always emphasised that when the unforeseen is seen, just don’t get excited.
He always emphasised the C. A scratching sound caused his vocal cords in this letter. I remember exactly.
Well, I want to follow his definite heavenly advice. Don’t panic. Enjoy the flower scents.
Don’t question. Just assume that it can be glorious in January. Wherever.
Only if I had had a significant intoxication, my skull would hum like a bumble bees nest.
Do bumblebees build nests? What a question. Somewhere they have to raise their brood. To teach them the hum I’ve experienced so often. But not now.
Maybe the airlines mix, as a new service, anti-hum in the alcoholic beverages. In any case, I’m experiencing modern times. Future. Future now.
Enjoy the moment, my grandfather would advise me now. No thoughts on how you came here. My left little finger points to my temple. Of course not the index finger.
I move light-footed, feel no heavyweight, no natural weight here.
Hurry, or better said, float to the music pavilion, which is on a gentle rise.
Its copper roof caressing the heavy black storm clouds. Does it want lightning and thunder?
Finally, a discharge to not have to worry about it anymore.
The amazing flowers, the blossoms of the trees, also face the sky. Promise delicious wet, from space.
Everyday Food For Their Roots
What do I promise myself in this public garden, of which I don’t know where it is, where I am.
An old man, bowed, with white hair and a flowing beard walking towards me.
Should I ask him? Let me know where I am. How I came here. He can certainly help me with his life experience.
I take all the courage that I have from my pocket. Press it as if it were a rubber ball.
How should I address the old man? Maybe he hardly sees, is hard of hearing.
Tapping on his shoulders as if he were an old buddy? No, that will not work. Respect for old age has to be. Fall on the knees? Impossible, the unkempt guy, is no higher being.
He comes closer. His eyes are focused on the ground. Will he walk past me if I don’t speak to him?
My heart is racing.
Now for the first time, I understand the proverb literally. Will I let him walk by? Now he stops. A short distance in front of me.
This is not possible! In front of me is a young man, looking at me for a long time! Taking me by the hand, pinching the little finger that previously pointed to my temple.
Come along! I’ll show you the exit. Too early for you. Live your life!
Enjoy Every Day As If It Were Your First, Or Last
No matter you are an old man or a youth.
And I am in everyday life again. Strive to capture the experience word for word on paper. Hope that I succeed.
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