Lina returned. Monday night via Hermannplatz. I remember the M41 does not lead towards me. The last few days have been a return to winter, proper winter even reminding me of Canada, cold and bright clear skies, dazzling sun, almost too luminous with blinding white snow reflecting all light. Perhaps some more snow later in the week.
I read about two scientists who will be spending summer in the Arctic, towing their lives behind, crossing open water in garish orange survival suits, polar bears by night. One described the blankness which at first the senses find overwhelming in its emptiness. Until… The eyes adjust, or rather the brain does, and replacing the white is a landscape almost bereft of this, rich and saturated in pinks and blues, yellows, browns, all colours emerging shyly from the void until it is a cacophony, a riot.
Berlin in winter is grey. Oh but the glorious whirl of greys and… colour.
