Kelze - Hofgeismar (Hessen, Germany)
I am surprised by the calm that is within me. Beyond the horizon lies a future that I neither recognize nor one that worries me. As if I were already in the right place at the right time and didn't need to search for anything else. So this is what it feels like to have arrived. It amazes me how quickly these states arise, just as quickly as they can disappear into nothingness.
Is it because of this place, a village with just 300 inhabitants? Yet it seems much smaller and less populated, as we hardly encounter any people outside. A place with a long past that here and there has not yet surrendered its history to the bleak modernization that so blankets this country. And one that has not eaten further into the landscape like so many others.
I quickly reach its end, no matter which direction I go. Every road out of the village ends at the horizon, where it cuts through lush fields that are green, beige, and brown. It is embedded in a landscape that I don't know like this from Germany. Fields upon fields, the next houses far away. Hardly any cars. And space. On our travels, much changed from extraordinary to normal – here it seems to be the other way around.
I am out there every day, keeping my body in motion. And although I often have only the sky above me, this vastness is not enough for me. I need more. It rains every day, and I wait full of longing for summer, which just won't come. The air is mild, pleasantly warm. The rain never lasts long, and it is rarely heavy. It doesn't burden me.
I like it here. It is quiet most of the time, were it not for the barking of a dog that you can hear even up in the fields. A muffled echoing that hurts my ears. Only it doesn't seem to bother anyone else but us. Apart from that, I feel comfortable. That I like it here is something I may admit to myself, to my own surprise. And then, as always, the same question arises: Could this be our home somewhere?
I am surprised by the calm that is within me. Beyond the horizon lies a future that I neither recognize nor one that worries me. As if I were already in the right place at the right time and didn't need to search for anything else. So this is what it feels like to have arrived. It amazes me how quickly these states arise, just as quickly as they can disappear into nothingness.
Is it because of this place, a village with just 300 inhabitants? Yet it seems much smaller and less populated, as we hardly encounter any people outside. A place with a long past that here and there has not yet surrendered its history to the bleak modernization that so blankets this country. And one that has not eaten further into the landscape like so many others.
I quickly reach its end, no matter which direction I go. Every road out of the village ends at the horizon, where it cuts through lush fields that are green, beige, and brown. It is embedded in a landscape that I don't know like this from Germany. Fields upon fields, the next houses far away. Hardly any cars. And space. On our travels, much changed from extraordinary to normal – here it seems to be the other way around.
I am out there every day, keeping my body in motion. And although I often have only the sky above me, this vastness is not enough for me. I need more. It rains every day, and I wait full of longing for summer, which just won't come. The air is mild, pleasantly warm. The rain never lasts long, and it is rarely heavy. It doesn't burden me.
I like it here. It is quiet most of the time, were it not for the barking of a dog that you can hear even up in the fields. A muffled echoing that hurts my ears. Only it doesn't seem to bother anyone else but us. Apart from that, I feel comfortable. That I like it here is something I may admit to myself, to my own surprise. And then, as always, the same question arises: Could this be our home somewhere?