Birdsong and trains were always my Berlin soundtrack, and I hear them both as I write, my cheeks still flushed by the day's sun. Central heating is being installed in our building, so our landlords have moved us to a holiday flat for a fortnight. I see the Gasometer from the window, and the sky. A shift can do much to clear one's head.
But I meant to share a little euphoria, a jolt of sun to mark this, the real beginning of spring. Oh my friends, this balmy air. I imagine the same thrilling song played in our heads as we walked through the streets and observed the ends of gray branches swollen green. I close my eyes on the balcony for a moment and am outside of any particular moment: wind on my face, coal (still) scenting the air.