| Current mood: |  peaceful |
| Current music: | Cherry Pie--Underworld |
to dream of love
I wish that I could tell you everything. I go running at night--every night now--and I cannot describe fully how this place makes me feel when I see it near midnight. There is a backerei just down the road, and they do their best work at night, always just as I jog by. I often slow up, just so I can smell the smell of fresh baked bread coming out of the exhaust that blows my hair to the side. I see hedgerows that block three story brick homes from the street downtown, and stuff my hand into them as I hurry by. I get a small amount of satisfaction just to feel the thorns and prickly bits scraping my hand, and I hope my skin breaks open, so that I know I am not already asleep. I sometimes encounter German cats, and they predictably either quickly skulk into the shadows, or sit and stare at me as I zip by.
This town has been here for centuries. It will most probably be here for centuries more; and I can only pace around it in awe. From the cobblestone street to the steeple in the center of the village, I can't beleive my eyes. I could attribute my adherence to my nightly schedule to the fact that I cannot see enough of this tiny town. It is smaller than the town I lived in as a child, I can run from end to end in ten minutes; yet I will never get enough, there is too much history for just one summer.
I can't tell you what simple pleasures there are to be had in this place. I can only give you a hollow description of my feelings on this ancient, powerful beauty which surrounds me, and that will never do justice to the reverence I must have on every nightly jog.
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