Some photos I snapped during my hike near Meiringen (where Sherlock Holmes faked his death) on Saturday afternoon.
No writing, no music, no distractions. I try to think as little as possible and focus on my environment. Let my mind and senses wander.
Dried leaves rustle, stirred up by mice. Omnipresent chirping of birds. Faraway car noise. Sunshine, a pleasant breeze. Two deers half hidden in the covert. I take deep breaths. I’ve been waiting for this. Medicine for my tattered soul.
I’m lucky – I expected to see more people, but the place is deserted. So I sing out of tune and soak up the sunshine and solitude. And for once, I don’t feel too panicked after stripping for my self-portrait.
Some things have changed fundamentally since I’ve moved to Lucerne. I have so much love for my newfound friends, maybe too much. It’s been confusing, but I’m finally accepting there are many different kinds of love and that it’s okay to feel so much for the people around me. Love is love, and one doesn’t diminish the other.
With the exception of my love, I’ve never felt as accepted and safe as with my friends here. We spend so much time together; more than once they saw me when I was in a bad shape and yet they’re not tired of me, my moods, my thoughts. It’s a new, intense kind of friendship – one I didn’t know existed. We’ve only known each other for barely half a year, but my trust in them is overwhelming.
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Vernissage, my three beloved people come when no one else does. They save me, the expected crash doesn’t occur. Seeing their familiar faces, exchanging glances and cheeky smiles, having them in an environment that is usually void of them anchors me. Everything is okay, I’m not alone. People care about me, they show up. I’m loved. Why am I forever surprised about people giving me their attention – as if I was a boring, inferior person? I should know better.
Instead of mingling with my classmates, I stay with my friends all night. I should socialise with the others but I can’t bring myself to leave the comfort they give, longing to be with the people who were there for me when I didn’t have anyone else here.
When I’m about to arrive, I find a tiny being in the middle of the street, its furry body heaving and sinking rapidly. At first glance, I mistake it for a mouse. Then I crouch next to it and realise it has to be a bat. A battered creature of the night in broad daylight. It’s almost motionless, its shallow breathing the only sign of life.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to touch it, but I can’t leave it there either. The thought of a car crushing it underneath unforgiving wheels is too terrible. So I gather three dandelion leaves and try to move it off the street, speaking to it in a panicked voice. Maybe it’s better off with a quick death.
It reacts to my attempts to move it. The wings flutter frantically, the left one broken, useless, just the skeleton left. But it lost its ability to fly. Watching it try breaks my heart, I cry for this helpless animal doomed to die. It crawls through the undergrowth just when a motorcyclist drives by, passing the spot where I found the bat minutes ago. I’m not sure if I’ve done something good.
On the other hand, nature is amazing, too. I can hardly believe the beauty I see around me. This duality is endlessly fascinating, both terrible and beautiful.
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Thank you for your compassionate and caring comments, I appreciate them a lot <3 I try to answer them all, though it takes a while sometimes – I hope you understand :) I wish you a wonderful week. Take care, my loves!