But never mind, it is a good time to relive last Wednesday's visit to the Strandbad Wannsee.
Oh let's all go move to Edinburgh! I had barely a few hours in the city and they left me all aflutter.
Changing trains between Elgin and Alnmouth I wrangled a half-hour at the Fruitmarket, a contemporary art gallery just outside Waverly Station. They were setting up the Dieter Roth exhibition upstairs. In the absence of actual art, I turned my admiration to the perfect shade of pink that united everything in the space: even the chalk on the blackboard menu was that color. I lingered in the excellent bookshop far too long, finally buying one book on silence, one on cities and one on independent publishing in Scotland.
The light heats to gold, cools to gray. We leave the house once S is asleep and make for the Back Shore. We go past the maltings, and linger at the Point. The harbour is quiet, though sometimes a seal bobs in the water. The wind at the Firth is so fierce it leaves my eyes watering. The lit windows in the lanes reveal flickering televisions. We go home and plunder the whisky cabinet, assemble cheddar on oat cakes, then read.
The infinite Scottish summer evenings have left me very tranquil. Next: a report from Edinburgh.
We eschewed the Autobahn to meander through the forest in the direction of Kladow. I was daydreaming in the summer dusk when Kristina spotted a sign and forked a sharp right. Tree-lined roads took us to a pull-off, and we walked through the gate and along the water until we spotted the Heilandskirche beyond the tall grass, protuding into the Havel.