Springtime in Embryo

Today I was an ingrate. The weather, despite it being the month of February, was not too bad. It was still daylight, dry, and cold but not so cold that my down jacket wasn't snuggly enough. Two of my brothers and I went to the Volkspark for a long promenade. But the light emphasized, perhaps rather like the morning light in a messy room when the evening before it hadn't looked so bad in the gloaming, how bare and wintry everything still is.

At the Rathaus Schöneberg I saw one pale pink rose on the bushes. In the park itself, there was English ivy, boxwood and yew and snowberries, and a few sprays of leaves on the bushes, and tiny spears of daffodil and hyacinth and tulip leaves perhaps as tall as my pinky finger. Ice lay on a few of the puddles and groundwater pools that disappear later in the summer, and the undergrowth had died away so much that one could see through almost any forested area.

At least hundreds of neighbours were on the go. There were joggers, of course; the soccer court was full of players, and the children's playgrounds were full of families; and birds were hopping along branches and railings. So it wasn't a wasteland. Many years ago I read that William Blake wrote in a poem, 'Where man is not, nature is barren.' I thought, given the realities of modern ecology, that this was tosh — man makes nature barren; but now perhaps I understand what he meant.

In Wilmersdorf we saw miniature stands of snowdrops and infinitesimal huddles of yellow winter aconites, looking (to be brutally frank) like the most pitiful assemblage of spring flowers I remember seeing in my life.

But Japanese quince blossoms were peeking out on one bush, and beautiful lion's-manes of yellow flowers were decorating some variety of hazel, that were more or less a respectable size.

And it snowed on the way home from the park. When we reached a staircase with an intimidating tuft of funereal yew at the top, it had a Narnia feeling to it. There was also metallic red heart confetti that was likely left over from a wedding ceremony at the Schöneberg city hall, and seemed less than biodegradable.

Later at home, Gi. made crêpes that were tender and thin and delicious; I made incredibly healthy beluga lentils that had the nice peppery taste I like; and although we were back from the walk late, we still ate oat cookies and almonds and dates (the latter two a present from an aunt) together with uncles M. and Wi., who were visiting.

If it weren't for the thronged, rush-hour like traffic stream that we crossed on the way back to the apartment, and all of these irritatingly critical observations of mine, it would have been an ideal Sunday!