»Meine „Türmer-Stunde“ ist gerade zu Ende gegangen. Damit die letzten Lichtstrahlungen vom letzten Tag des ersten Monats in der ersten Dekade des Jahrhunderts.
The light is waning; bird activity, sparse as it is this time of year, also diminishes. Slowly the lights go on in the surrounding neighbors’ windows. The S-Bahn makes its lonely way toward the city, all the more lonely because the next stop is the last one in our Landkreis, and we still have a 15-km travel limit. I am not allowed to go into the county of Munich, although it’s less than 5 km away. But rules are rules.
I miss the city. I wish that I could have stood on the top of a building to watch the sun set. I’ve seen it before; this is also not the only city where sunrise and sunset are not strangers. There’s always a bit of magic when a city sleeps. I remember more sunrises than sunsets though. I’ve stood on my “side balcony” for the past hour. It faces east, and always gets colder before the “front” balcony, which faces south, but has more traffic/movement. I’ve watched the crows take turns watching, roosting, swooping through the empty tree branches. Every so often a pair of Raben play, but they’re slowing down now, as are the squirrels.
My neighbors downstairs are noisy. I’ve listened to them banging around in the kitchen for the past hour, the noise of evening conversation filters up to me in my lonely post; unbenounced to them, I stand, and watch. I live in a protected bubble, a “Schlafstadt”, a garden community. There are trees everywhere, just like where I grew up, but the homes are closer together here. I contemplate the trees – how long have they stood here? Were they here 100 years ago? What have they seen? I remember, when my children were younger, how I felt on Sunday mornings. I always got up first. No one else got up much before 9:00. Sundays were ironing mornings for me. I had such a contented feeling – a homey feeling. Nesting, even. I was at home, while my family slept peacefully – I guarded the house. I had that feeling again today, as I stood. I, and my spirit, watched and guarded.
My back was cold, while I stood; I thought of how lucky I was – the day I chose had perfect weather. Cold – but it’s January! – but dry. Damp, but still – no wind. That’s what makes things hard, in the winter outdoors – the wind. I’ve rocked back and forth, for the past hour, the way women do. You notice that you start this when you’re expecting, and it never goes away. My legs may not be happy tomorrow. I’m glad that I cooked before „my hour“. The house smells good when I come in. My plants are smiling at me. They’ll get their turns on the balconies in a few months. Das Licht geht aus, im Himmel. Die Nacht ist arrivée, la nuit.«