Tofuwachtel

The certificate of inheritance had been sent to her weeks ago. It had taken a very long time until she could be located. Now the lawyer had given her the keys.

During the drive to the house she hung on to her thoughts. Dorothea. Never had she heard that name from her mother, never known she had an aunt until the inheritance notice. I wonder why the sisters had become so divided. - Neither of them she could ask anymore.

For a time she stood outside the ramshackle garden door, gazing into the overgrown front garden, at the entrance front covered in greenery. Three steps, thick with moss, led to the entrance.

The door creaked a little, then she stood in the hallway. White floor tiles, half-tiled white. Cool, fresh, and a slight chill ran through her. A light haze hung in the air.

A neighbor had been checking on everything from time to time, airing out, turning the faucets on and off. In the living room, the furniture was covered with white sheets. The pale green sheer curtains, embroidered with small white flowers and roses, were drawn. Hesitantly, she pulled the fabric aside. Took, off the couch covered in almost the same pattern, the sheets.

Bright light flooded the room as she pulled open the top drawer of the dresser. Soap. The whole drawer full. A soft soapy mist quickly spread through the room.

In the next, an old photo album. Black and white photographs. Lovingly recolored by hand. Siblings. Immediately she recognized her mother. Next to them, unmistakable resemblance, her aunt. Both young women, both peach-skinned, both dull soft red lips, both holding a small bouquet of flowers entwined with greenery.

She continued to look around. Pulled off the white cloths everywhere now. She liked the scattered softwood furniture in the rooms, with its almost Bauhaus style. Gave everywhere a certain, fine warmth. Especially the small honey-brown secretary. Though she definitely still found it soothingly fresh.

Pictures in brushed silver frames that shimmered delicately metallic where a bright beam of light hit them. Her aunt seemed to have loved Impressionists. Especially the subjects of Monet with his still lifes of fruit and flowers. But also Pissarro and his green landscapes. All as chalk drawings, all with her aunt's signature.

The garden was small and wildly enchanted. The spicy herbage stood knee-high in some corners. And even the shady terrace was overgrown with soft moss. She liked it very much.

Closing her eyes just for a moment...... When she awoke, the sun was already low and almost a little creamy yellow, its rays were falling through the windows.

A fine breeze of soap still hung in the room, and though the sun had warmed the rooms, she still felt a bit of that soothing cool freshness. Once more she walked through the little house. Her mind was made up. There was nothing stopping her on the other side of the world. A reach for her cell phone. "Yeah, right. The appointment for tomorrow has gone. I'm withdrawing the order, I'm not selling ....."

It was the same ritual every morning.

Early the alarm clock rang and she stepped to the window, opening it wide. This early hour, she loved it. There was still a shallow haze over the meadows and a light fresh breeze was blowing. Quickly she got ready and went down the stairs.

The first path always led her to the kitchen.
Peel the lemon zest and add it to fresh mineral water along with a few herbs. Slightly cooled a wonderfully aromatic summer drink. Of it then everyone could help themselves throughout the day.

Then out into the garden. The earth under her feet already a little sun warmed, but still a quäntchen damp. Past the small colorful flower bed, in which already almost more herb than rose was recognizable.

Her goal was the old hammock whose green fabric had become a little rough in the course of time and the wide leather lacing had almost grown into the trunks of the trees. Tartly beautiful she always felt this place to be.

A fine delicate bitter spicy smell emanated from the herbs she was about to pick. But first she sat down in the hammock, dangling her feet and enjoying them touching the soft, delicately spicy moss as she rocked gently. Here she took her time, enjoying the sweet idleness and recharging her batteries.

Warm, soft and golden, the sun's rays fell diffusely through the spicy foliage, melting into the cool shade, leaving a few small, pale droplets of resin on the branches to shimmer softly.

Slowly, she stood up, cut the slightly tart herbs, and walked smiling along the sunny path back to the house.

... ...I was pretty late. It was too cold. I thought I would miss the spring. But then it worked out quite well

I have held my white wings to dry in the warm sun and after a few hours I could then flutter off.

Went straight to the lilacs before I missed them. These large clusters of flowers I like too much. Since I take me also always something in stock for the day with.

Beautiful, is that when people sit outside, in the street cafes. There was one sitting there with a big sun hat on. And there was fruit on it. I thought that was great. Especially this melon piece. I fluttered around it several times. She was nice in general. I went back and forth a few times right in front of her face. She had such a nice peach skin. She must have liked it. Anyway, she always watched me and laughed quite carefree and bright.

I went on then.

A not to be underestimated danger comes for me from the air. If I see that there is one of the peepers squinting at me, I jet right off into the green and stay there for a while. Besides, I like that fresh touch. I also like it when flowers are surrounded by such fine green foliage. Lily of the valley in particular comes to mind. They're in a corner of the park next to the lilacs. And I think someone planted a peony there once. It doesn't usually have so many blossoms, but it smells great. Unfortunately, it doesn't last long. Well... This place is definitely one of my favorites.

Sometimes there brings such a fresh breeze me to stagger. Then I beat very quickly with my white wings and look for a flower, on which I then make rest and a little nibble on the nectar I do then also. Or I hang myself under a large green leaf and listen to how the bees buzz through the flowers

When the sun's rays slowly become dull golden and creamy, then I look for a place for the night. I always find it nice near the old trees. They have small branches that shimmer like silk and also have such a fine spicy scent. Some of them have a bit of tender moss at the bottom. At the end of the day, this calms my cheerful, lively being in a pleasant way. And later I also close my wings at some point, sit softly, enjoy the mild breeze and dream of the next wing beat

Soap mist hung in the room. So thick that it ran down the large moss-green tiles like dewdrops from petals.

She wrung out the yellow washcloth, dried herself with the green towel, and wrapped it around her head, with the wide flower border facing outward. It was a little rough and scratchy. But that didn't bother her, quite the opposite.

A little powder on the peach skin, the sparkling gray-green eyes framed in black.

In the next room, the speakers' cones vibrated to the hilt. Polar Nights ......

Loudly she sang along in her slightly tart voice.

She danced into the living room. She almost knocked over the clay jar of lilies of the valley and daffodils as she stripped off her headscarf and shook her long brown hair.

From the open window came to her a rush of herbaceous spicy air and a subtle note of damp earth.

In, into the old, soft leather pants. The creamy brown shirt with it and the scarf shimmering in all shades of green.

Her big cat hugged her legs and purred deeply.

She left the apartment, sat down in her old cadet, popped in the cassette and turned on .......

Well, actually, you don't fit into my scent world at all.

Your fruit.
It's so smooth, it's so pureed, it's so strained.
There's no seeds, there's no pulp.
You don't seem artificially sugared to me.
Sure, you're already sweet. Much sweeter than I usually like it. There is nothing with tart features, moss or something.
But don't I feel like you're gumming up my pores and nose.

Your dark berries bring some pear to me, too. And I have the feeling, the one or other small green leaf could also have been whirled with through the blender. But only briefly, there was then probably well strained afterwards.

And while I'm still at the fruit cream, there come blossoms and merge with the fruit. So a very small aromatic spice nuance they have. And I must say, that suits you excellently.

A little bit warmer you get. So not that there was even the hint of cool or anything before. No, there's a softly drawn vanilla note coming in. It happens quite slowly. You're taking your time. And to me, you're also showing a hint of amaretto. Not that you have any kind of alcoholic tinge. No, it's more like just the smell without the percentages. And even a little creamier you seem to me now also.

Actually. Why actually?