All posts tagged: ramblings

Smell The Camellias

February always seems a sprint to me, unlike the tortoise crawl of dark December succeeded by joyless January. It’s the shortest month after all, and sweet too – I turned 24, ate multiple slabs of birthday cake, made new friends and passed my driving test. I drove past these camellias the other day at dusk, blousy, bloomy, beautiful against the blue-tinted sky, and made a mental note to walk back with my camera in the daylight. So this morning my mother and I laced our running shoes and headed out into the morning wind. The sun shone weakly, not yet warm enough to streak our fair hair or erupt the freckles dormant on our cheekbones. It may be the first of March, but it didn’t feel like spring. I know it is – officially – weeks until the equinox and that camellias are hardy plants, valued for their early flowering. But March has always been my personal start of spring, calendar-setters be damned. The camellias stirred something awake inside me – a memory, a prayer, a reminder that …

Been There | Regensburg, 2014

I visited this city as a little girl, often, and so to visit it as a woman of twenty-three years – to be able to point out the cobbled street where I lived when I was twenty and to recognise familiar faces in cafes, on the street – is the most wondrous feeling. The air was close and I spent the weekend in a haze of heat and sunshine, the sky so bright I could feel freckles forming on my arms. I drank my weight in Apfelschorle, stalked my old neighbours, rode the ferris wheel and munched on Schoko-Erdbeeren with Carolin, reminisced with Andreas, hiked through Kallmünz with Rudi and Christl, sat in our old seats at Cafe Lila with Julia, ate cake for lunch and Waldbeertorte (foresty fruity tart) for tea, accompanied friends to the European election, cycled furiously down the Regenradweg on my old blue bicycle (out of storage, for one weekend only!) and gazed in awe at the various beauties enshrined in this small city and its environs. To return to somewhere …

Home Sweet Home

Lately, I have been thinking a fair amount about home. Sitting on the tube – homewards, homebound – I hold the word on my tongue, roll its four letters over and over until its edges are smoothed, like a pebble, its gradients familiar and known. I’ve been thinking about the notion of it, the way the word represents both an abstract concept and a wholly tangible and concrete preoccupation – something easily translated into feelings and objects we can see and touch and use. When I think of home, I think of the white banister curling its way up the stairs. I think of my mother’s coffee cakes washed down with steaming mugs of tea, aubergine auflauf baking in the oven, the cream-coloured roses that overrun the pagoda in summertime. I think of the way it feels to lie in the garden, face down in the grass, sealed off from the outside world – the only reminder, the buzz of the lawnmower from a neighbouring garden and the low rumble of tube trains clattering down …