Wiesmoor (Germany)
A deer emerges from the small wood, less than 50 meters away. It freezes in the meadow for a few heartbeats before darting off, vanishing behind the house at the end of the narrow path. Moments later, three or four more deer follow. Two are young, their spots still visible. They too pause briefly before scattering in different directions. And so the dance begins. The two larger deer repeatedly burst from the wood, bounding across the meadow only to disappear into the thicket, then reappear moments later as if by magic.
The sight fills me with a profound joy, heightened by the rarity of such encounters. In our human-dominated world, wild spaces for these creatures have become precious and scarce. Their continued existence feels like a gift we've grudgingly allowed.
I arrive on the third day, returning to a place both new and familiar. We'd stayed here briefly last winter en route to Brittany, but those few days left such an impression that we decided to linger longer this time. Now we're back, in a different house on a different street. The traffic that initially disturbed me has faded into background noise. Our accommodation sits along a main road stretching from horizon to horizon, lined with red-brick houses in a kaleidoscope of hues and styles. Each stands proudly before a manicured garden, many boasting shrubs, flowers, and trees. It's a scene I've never encountered in this country before—strange, yet undeniably beautiful.
We have ample space, and I'm settling in comfortably. Yet there's always that accursed period of arrival, demanding a sacrifice of the first few days. It's a familiar, sometimes painful process, but what seemed impossible or distant yesterday becomes reality in a matter of days. I am here now.
Then there is an encounter at week's end: the town boasts two bookshops, though one is more accurately a general store with a book section. It is a true bibliophile's haven. Its owner stands out, her openness and warmth casting a spell the moment you cross the threshold. She's an author too, with seven books to her name. And so we stay way longer than expected.
We'll return, as our stay stretches longer than usual—double our typical duration. I'm eager to discover what other experiences this extended time will offer.
A deer emerges from the small wood, less than 50 meters away. It freezes in the meadow for a few heartbeats before darting off, vanishing behind the house at the end of the narrow path. Moments later, three or four more deer follow. Two are young, their spots still visible. They too pause briefly before scattering in different directions. And so the dance begins. The two larger deer repeatedly burst from the wood, bounding across the meadow only to disappear into the thicket, then reappear moments later as if by magic.
The sight fills me with a profound joy, heightened by the rarity of such encounters. In our human-dominated world, wild spaces for these creatures have become precious and scarce. Their continued existence feels like a gift we've grudgingly allowed.
I arrive on the third day, returning to a place both new and familiar. We'd stayed here briefly last winter en route to Brittany, but those few days left such an impression that we decided to linger longer this time. Now we're back, in a different house on a different street. The traffic that initially disturbed me has faded into background noise. Our accommodation sits along a main road stretching from horizon to horizon, lined with red-brick houses in a kaleidoscope of hues and styles. Each stands proudly before a manicured garden, many boasting shrubs, flowers, and trees. It's a scene I've never encountered in this country before—strange, yet undeniably beautiful.
We have ample space, and I'm settling in comfortably. Yet there's always that accursed period of arrival, demanding a sacrifice of the first few days. It's a familiar, sometimes painful process, but what seemed impossible or distant yesterday becomes reality in a matter of days. I am here now.
Then there is an encounter at week's end: the town boasts two bookshops, though one is more accurately a general store with a book section. It is a true bibliophile's haven. Its owner stands out, her openness and warmth casting a spell the moment you cross the threshold. She's an author too, with seven books to her name. And so we stay way longer than expected.
We'll return, as our stay stretches longer than usual—double our typical duration. I'm eager to discover what other experiences this extended time will offer.