During summer as we sat in front of our building.
When women would line themselves on this mixture of a block and humane architecture.
When your mother would delay her „IVANE!“ shout from your window.
When everything had a fragrance and everything had its sound.
When we were all there. Between concrete and trees.
Mirabelle, birch, chestnut and willow.
Resin, linden, a creek and me.
We whispered.
A word now and there.
Listening.
All but silhouettes.
Smiling.
