Sky high

Our sea journey is ending. Tomorrow we will drive back to Carlsheaven. A wonderfull prospekt. We are taking already removal-boxes with us. In anticipation on the larger transport later this year. We are going to stay for longer periods at the Weser riverside. It is good so and it will be good when our seaside meetings with the birds, the seals (not yet seen lately) are going to be less frequent. They will remain as deep, thrilling and intense as always. And Mischa will have a save haven and here and there. Save to follow her dream and build up her private practice.

It was late in the afternoon already when I had the chance to visit the seaside. The weather was cloudy and dark in the East. So I took my last sea bath - for the time being - and dressed up warmly. The tide was lowering but still rather high. So “bath” maybe is the right word. First you have to cross the undeep laguna, where you can barely dive. And then after crossing a sand bank, there is the real surf. And real means: really cold. But the surf waves help you to overcome any hesitation. Welcome to the inauguration here and enjoy your submersion. One, two, three brrr. Delicious. My Sea Mother is gentle today and waves with her longing green grey and broad smiling surf to her loving leaving child. See you later, you red panted Zanderling…!

At home, Willemien and Mischa joined in and had a lot to tell about their park adventures; see also here. Together we enjoyed our dinner. Which Willemien had cooked in a very tasty way. I will have to do my utmost best, next week. Promise is promise. It will be my turn. My right arm is soaring slightly: in Carlsheaven no more paper tearing to do. Hurray,...! But wait, before you dream of lazy days to come. Outside cleaning, terrace, rattan furniture and preparing the coming removal, etcetera. But, time enough left to admire the high clouded skies over the hill and over the riverside. Adieu, you sandy plains, you gulls and sanderlings. And as for the cormorants: I’m going to the Fisherfriends stone at the riverside. To listen to that Old Story of the Cormorant and write that down, sitting there under different skies, bare feet in the quick floating stream.