Beautiful things

It’s strange to look back on the development of a thought and see what unusual detours it made and which connections happened along the way. Mostly such criss-crossing leads nowhere at all, but sometimes they lead up to a personal or general truth. I love those moments when something that was vague becomes transparent like morning dew on a cat’s whisker.

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This morning I daydreamed of wandering around in an abandoned wild garden. I lived next to it as a child, so it is firmly rooted in reality. There was an apple tree in that garden with the darkest red apples I have ever seen. They didn’t taste very good, but they had pink flesh. Very beautiful bright pink like the sunset on a watercolour painting. Our family made preserves of these apples and then their taste changed and became sweet. Such apples I’ve never seen anywhere else. I also explored the abandoned villa on the same property, climbed up a narrow staircase, almost fell, but reached a tower room with windows on all three sides. The windows were not broken, but there were cobwebs, white lace curtains, and street lamps lighting it up like moonlight. I had a companion with me and we had dialogues befitting a symbolist play. How can you not turn symbolist with apples like that? And gardens and rooms like that? It entertained me for 2 hours. Such are my favourite mornings.

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