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What dusty and sober can a day in August be. You would like to take yourself away on such a day because of all the misery that is trying to penetrate you. But you know: the serene evening is coming and the lapwing sounds over the low fields. You are walking in the dew and see the backs of the cows and the steaming trees. and the thought of all these things blesses that fierce August Day, and you don't start to grumble and scold, or try to change or improve it, but you are seeking a quiet, shadowy corner somewhere on a deserted place here and there and you wait and know that it will come. Nature doesn't hide anything, but gives everything; and those days in August, they also have to get a place in our spiritual community. But the nights with winter-storms, they will also come and the lovely mornings and evenings in May, which are nothing but profundity. Only that depth, which we will get by experiencing all extremes, can create true friendship. Shall fate allow us to walk through all these phases? (en) |
