The False Spring

October 16, 2011 § Leave a comment

The car knows the track between the harvested corn fields and the mushroomed woods well. A perfect autumn day, but not in a wheedling way. There is a cool North breeze, as it should be these days where we already sleep with the winter. But it’s sunny. An honest sun which reaches the deeper layers of our soul. I look at the sky. So blue, so clear you can see life on other planets. Guilty I think of all the freedoms I want to steal before the winter comes. The escapes I want to make, the truths I want to say, and the lies I want to hear. So I travel in thought when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a picture which seems like a Fata Morgana of a spring day in mid-October: on one of the Arcadian meadows, a cow is licking the blood off the wet skin of a new-born calf. I put on the brake and reverse. The cow takes no notice of me or the car. She continues licking her calf with motherly dedication. The little body moves softly together with its mother’s loving tongue. But I see now, this movement is totally controlled by the external power. There is no life in it. The mother is still full of hope and she’ll go on licking it for as long as her nature demands.
But the day is less beautiful now it is a false spring.


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You are currently reading The False Spring at I was not born in English.


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