Tofuwachtel

When the sky
Touches the earth

And the night
Softly descends

Then they fall
Like a cascade

The white
Fine blossoms

So white
So delicate
So powerful

Shimmering matt
In the sparkling starry glow

Warm
And yet gently cool

Sweet
And yet delicately green

Covering gently
Mild wood and fine herbs

Innocence
Only garment

.... green mist
Falling in the morning air

When cool dew shimmers
On soft grass

When the sun gently
Warms the earth

When herbs quietly
Whisper spicy

When silky wood becomes
Freshly greened

When buds break open
Very gently

When young moss is so fresh
Shines in the shade

When the beginning lets
The new life sprouts

Then it goes
The green wind

... There comes the silence

The I, the being
Drifting
In a calm clear lake

Like dull silky
Wood
Seemingly endlessly alive


Since eternity
Distant in time
In the lasting self

Thoughts float
Quietly
In herbaceous hope

A soft breeze
Fresh
Caressed soul

Silent breath flowing
Whispering
In the eternal cycle

Relaxed eyes gaze
Secure
Into the confidence of life

Quietly goes the wind
Caresses the wood
Refreshes the spirit

Gossamer green
Security
Very gently and quietly

Here in the now
Free
Of all too much

Lotti and Irmi. Sisters. They grew up in Silesia. Lotti became a seamstress and a milliner. Irmi took over her parents' flower stall at the market.

After months of trekking, and they and the horses were simply too exhausted to move on, they were assigned a room with a war widow in a small northern German town. Welcome, they were not there.

That changed only after Lotti began to sew clothes from old uniforms, sheets and blankets. So slowly she made a name for herself in the place with that. Especially since she also took on any kind of alterations. It wasn't long before Irmi had traded an old sewing machine for Lotti on the black market. She had given her earrings for it.

In general, the sisters could not have been more different.

Lotti was always elegantly dressed. Costume, preferably in a shade of yellow, matching hat, gloves. Even in the summer. Irmi loved her old trousers and the washed-out green yoke she had worn in the beginning when working in the fields, which she had taken on with a farmer. One graceful and small, the other tall and stout.

Only two things, they both had in common. Their almost water-blue eyes and a fondness for 4711.

After Lotti opened a small tailor shop and also started making hats again, the two of them moved into a tiny cottage.

The smell when you entered, I'll never forget it. Everywhere in the small rooms were small bowls, in which small cotton balls lay. These were regularly soaked with the cologne.

This tangy fresh, a very little bit bitter note of orange and lemon, this fine herbaceous spice, the slight hint of lavender, embraced a summer as winter.

And they always smelled of it, too. Lotti always put a few spritzes on her handkerchief and then dabbed her forehead and neck. Irmi was less complicated. She would take the bottle and put a few drops on her décolleté. And if then only a soft reverberation on the skin lay, was immediately nachgelegt.

When I visited them as a child, my chocolate mouth was wiped with it, if I had an abrasion it was used to clean the wound and I think they also used it as a mouthwash additive. In any case, a good shot of it was always put in the little bowl of ironing water.

That was a long time ago, but when I smell the scent today, refreshing myself with it in the summer, it's an incredibly nice feeling. And then there are somewhere also Lotti and Irmi.

When we met you were
Sparkling and charming

You seemed
Fresh and reliable

You had
Pepper and wit

You loved
Earth and herb

You wore
Suit and jeans

You were
Spice and life

You liked
Smoke and wood

You showed
Style and nonchalance

You knew
Wagner and Wacken

We have grown older
But nothing has changed ...