The Empty Pavilion

In a few days it will be Eastern. April has to start in a rough winterly way. Though the strong eastern winds have come to rest it’s very hard to find signs of springtime arrival around here.

Just a glimpse of sunshine pierces through the thick cloudy skies now and then. You can only hear a few birds singing. Around the Hut most of the snow has vanished. But it remains too cold up there to find a comfortable seat to write this note.

On the Southern hillslope just opposite my oaktree-window on a rock stands the small Pavilion, barren between the almost leafless trees.

In summertime occasionally it gathers wandering people enjoying the clear voices of an outdoor choir. Now the great song of Silence whispers through the mountain trees.

The river below moves patiently its currents down to the valleys in the West.

Up here, where the Oaktree holds its guard, I shiver in my old green wintercoat and think of a friend.

We used to enjoy our souls in philosophical encounters. We could lose the sense of time and harsh reality in laughing about the weirdness of the world. For years we have grown out of touch.

It’s life itself that joines and separates our souls in togetherness and in unbridgable distance, I guess.

I bow aside to see again the small Pavilion far behind the barren branches of the Oaktree. In the dimgrey daylight it is almost vanished between the snowy rocks and trees. But then for a moment here in front underneath the Oaktree a chattering bunch of tits is chasing for some sunflowerseeds.

With a smile I listen to their little wild concerto while in the foggy distance the small Pavilion stays empty on the barren rocks.