so often

I sit here

between arable field

and green fields

a the pine grove

the sun laughs

a breath of spring

caresses me

dandelions

send their combined children

on thaier journey

the early singers

ringing busily

for the first concert

in the bushes

close your eyes

listen

the harz mountains

stretch ahead

me

the hinhest elevation

of the low mountain

range

to the west

the brocken

in silhouettes

I recogize