E nce She was alone.
She had let go just on the field. A meadow on a slope. The view of the valley was blocked by dozens of trees. Weitausladende, beautiful trees. What that bowed in the breeze rustled and tender. Which, on the trees here in the valley could be very proud.
She looked into the valley without a view. - "Still beautiful!" you thought. A small angle in the valley, still. Only if you pricked up ears, you could hear the gurgling brook.
were here in summer red-green apples in the meadow. Red Berlepsch. Goldrenette Freiherr von Berlepsch. That sounded great visit! Now the grass was wet. The humidity crept already on pants through the jeans. Actually, only moss, so thick moss balls and stabbed through the withered stalks of the coltsfoot of last summer. Below lay a few wrinkly, reddish brown tubers. Well apples that had fallen much too early and unripe.
"Now the cold gets into your bones" thought you got up and with a jerk. She ran down the slope, shooting a dried apple with a strong kick in the air. PLONG , he cut against the outer wall of the sandbox. "Lovely spot" ... "What were they still the same stone baskets?" she wondered. A child's call brought back abruptly. But since the idea was already gone.
disappeared And the winter bare branches of overhanging trees.
0 comments:
Post a Comment