Who would have thought that we would only see our friends outside one day – even in December? I made this hike through a classical part of the Odenwald with my old and dear friend Daniel and over our conversation I completely forgot to take a photo of him. For me he looked like always.
With very few of my friends it’s like this: I haven’t seen them for a while (like two or even three years in this case) and it is somehow like we met yesterday and just continued to talk about the things, we talked before. I think this feeling is some kind of “Heimat” too.
“Heimat” this strange word, which has no proper translation in English. Homeland, native country, motherland, fatherland – nothing expresses this foundation of our existence, this dark but cosy thing, this womb of joy and grief, like “Heimat”.