I love doors.

About timeless timetravelling, uncoulourful coulours and a lot of roundabouts. Everything is très français, the vine is lovely, the tourists many, the kids always come in combinations of three, the evenings are chilly, sometimes hot, the lavender had moved from the fields into the stores. We loved.


Two dresses for one wedding and the clouds, passing.

The storm has passed and the sky is clear, as if nothing ever happened.
And you wonder, for a moment, if you maybe just imagined it all.
In your head. Rain. Grey, clouds. Downpours.

If all roads lead to Rome, does it really matter which one you take?

It is always important to see the sky.

Our roadtrip to France is full of roundabouts.
Stone houses.
Canoeing on the Ardèche.
We like beaucoup.

The weddings are lovely.

I still don’t get the snail questions. Why would somebody bring snails?

US Immigration has a picture of me with my cookie monster earrings.

I flew. Like a bird. High up in the air.
Like a bird.

Sometime, when the world reflects in the shallow water to the right, thoughts fly over the mountains in the notsofar distance.
Thoughts about yourself.
Thoughts about who the others are.
Thoughts about how we plan our lives and what life then does with our plans.
And clouds, everywhere.

Sometimes, when you turn your head, the world suddenly looks completely different.
The lies above the sky, the lights look strange, as if they knew they’re not meant to be where they are.
Then you hear crickets cricketing in the night, in the city, where there should be none (and I ask myself, where do they live? In the neighbours’ gardens, 20 floors down?). Or maybe it’s frogs. But I prefer the thought of the cricketing crickets. But oh well, I will never know. One of life’s mysteries.
Strange, all this. Life.

Everything’s green.
The breaking of the waves is deafening. They are so close that they almost reach the living room.
It is hot and humid here, it’s windy, sunny, it’s a day on the beach, it’s stormy, it’s beautiful, it’s different from what I thought.

And I read sentences like „Wenn man versucht, Schmerz und Traurigkeit zu vertreiben, bekommt man wie zur Belohnung ein kleines Stückchen Freiheit geschenkt.“ und: „In ihrer Verlassenheit lag etwas Klares, und das brachte einem irgendwie die Gefühle in Ordnung.“.
I love Banana Yoshimoto. After I got over ‚Kitchen’, which highly depressed me, I love her stories, again.
„Die ganz gewöhnlichen Spuren des gelebten Lebens eines Menschen“, „kostbare Erinnerungen oder ähnlich brauchbare Gedanken“. „Wie ein kleines Blumenbeet zwischen den Häuserschluchten der Stadt“.

People can’t leave on the same TV channel for five minutes in a row without zapping on. But put them in front of an ocean, and they watch the waves, endlessly. Tirelessly.
Maybe we should do things more often that can’t we zapped on.

I stopped wanting things out of principle. Life’s easier that way. I’m happier. I waste less energy. I think over the years I have found a lot of ways to waste less energy and emotions on things that aren’t worth it. It feels as if somebody lifts a burden off your shoulders. Life’s too short.

Life also is: sitting in front of the ocean, watching endless waves, and somebody passes and sells you mangoes, chopped and with a fork, ready to eat. Life.

And: floating in the water, face-up, looking at the sky. I’d even say it’s better than opening a pack of espresso, when it makes that sound and then it suddenly smells like coffee in the whole kitchen.

And sometimes, you start reading the nightly city lights like the stars.
You look at the same street, the same cars passing. The same flow of people.
Thoughts, tires, aspirations. Grocery bags, on their way home, to work. Traffic.
Nothing changes, yet it’s different from yesterday. All the time.
All that, out there.
Random thoughts drifting over to that tower with the red lights and a white one on top.
Weird long moments that make you rethink your place in life.
Flower arrangements.
And when it’s windy, the nocturnal lights flicker, as the trees move, gently or less.