Springtime Mornings...

In the mornings I like to walk around the town, the suburb where I live, and now during late springtime, I always start around 7am, after the sun yawns up over the horizon. It’s my favourite time of the year to go for a brisk walk or say a light jog. Things move at their own pace in this city, no matter what time of the year it finds itself in. When I get out of the house, the sun is hiding up there like a wide-eyed curious kid, hugging the curtain of clouds, playing hide and seek, peek-a-boo! There are always some people standing on the opposite side of the main street waiting for the only inbound bus that travels once a day. And over time I’ve got used to them. To me they are statues. They stand there every time I step out my house-door on to the main street, as if they have stood there in that same position for ages and always will until I no longer come out here. They were put there for me. I walk down the centre square towards the city school. The houses appear empty. No sounds, no movement, yet the lawns are trimmed, the paths are swept clean and the fences appear to have been whitewashed yesterday. The BMWs, the Audis, the VWs are freshly waxed and standing neatly in their little garages. A ghost town without ghosts.

And the ocean in my heart already beckons me from a distance. My steps on the sidewalk call back, telling me how far I still am. Anything that would disturb me would be a pure coincidence. Nothing is directed at me. My shoes touch the cemented tiles of Maxplatz square and they yawn crisply in the misty morning dew. I stand for a moment and look out. Watching the beautiful little ducklings with their confused smile in the morning fog. I look at the flowing stream. Every time I'm here, I try to persuade myself that there is an ocean in front of me, a massive body of water, a giver and taker of life, with an array of calm and storm all in one. As I stare, my eyes adjust and all they discover is a small puddle. And beyond it, the hope that the sun shines through; the hope of brightness no eye can pierce. All I hear is breathing, heavy and thunderous. A roar lays in there. Yet only a puddle.

I sit down and wait until the first mild rays of light show themselves from behind the clouds in a distance. They begin to dance across the crests of waves in my heart, jumping towards me, springing from the fire that glows cardinal the length of my horizon. I squint my eyes together and like magic, the puddle grows to a lake and then to the Ocean. I see it as a gentle roar, docile with a strength that protects and doesn't harm, if one only wishes to be near and not conquer. The roar knows it will live forever and it treats me the same. As if I will always be around.

The air smells as if it has just been born. I begin to walk along the stream towards the outskirts of the city. I walk almost to the next town and stop where the stream vanishes below the ground to give way to the Autobahn construction. It's funny how humans bend nature blocking it with their concrete jungles of technology. I smile. It doesn't affect my view of life though.
I carry my ocean within.