Beaufort Five

From my flat I'm overlooking the ancient Jewish Cemetery. It's more of a park these days, nazi government removed both the Hebrew language tombstones and the registers in the 1930s so it's not sure where which tomb is situated. Some decidedly Christian tombstones remained, but most of the time one walks over unmarked graves. And people seem to appreciate this - nobody plays soccer on the lanes. A big population of rabbits triumphantly survives the feeble attempts of the local dog population to decimate them. Cunning little fellows, wide-eyed and superior. And then one stumbles over that little badge upon a rock, " Meyer Herschel, 1898 - 1927". Requiescas in pace, brother.
Right now the rhododendron bushes - some of them almost a century old - are in full bloom. Those delicate colors... and at the center of many a bush there is an abandoned grave, cast-iron railing , headstone and all. Reminds me of "Dornröschen", the sleeping beauty by the Grimm brothers. Strange, the mind likes to compare death with sleep, tries to wave the finality of death away - so many religions take advantage of our problem with the ultimate.

I love living up here in the moderate North of Germany - it's because we have all these different kinds of winds from breeze to raging

Felix Valloton "Blossoming Fields", 1912

storm. In Central Germany - where I grew up - the rare storms are catastrophes. The landscape, the plants, the houses aren't designed for them, so every strong wind seems to be a hurricane, with cars lop sizing, trees falling and roof tiles flying. Not so up here. The fostered, sane trees of the cemetery gently bow to the gusts, with all their leaves shrieking in delight. Now and then the appartment block seems to shudder under the passionate caress of the winds. And the air is like nothing else. It does not smell maritime - the North Sea is 50 miles away - but incredibly fresh and clean. All the dust, the pollens and other allergic stuff is blown away. A Histamine wind.

Due to a banking problem I had to pay this month's rent in cash to my landlord's account. He lives in the region around Hamburg that we call "fat man's belly". In the German fiscal system one's place of residence raises the taxes. Many who are a bit better off earn their wages in Hamburg and pay their taxes to what used to be small dreamy villages in the vicinity. These days these communities are a lot better off (per capita) than the cities. It shows - they look almost Swiss, with roads you could eat from, and more off-road incapable SUV than cars... Anyway, I had to visit a branch of his regional bank which is not allowed to entertain an office in Hamburg. So I boarded a bus and drove to the closest city border. And landed amidst Lower Saxony at its best. Green lanes, obscure cattle sporting thick brown fur, bison-like, horses, and sheep... and a small storm (Beaufort 5) cleaning and brushing all the landscape - beautiful. Decided to walk all the way back, which, as usual, turned out to be a two and a half hours affair due to poor navigation on my part. Loved every minute of it.