With time your opinion has shifted when it comes to the country you call home. Your stay has the quality of something transient. A nondescript business hotel in Wilhelmshaven. It’s safe, the sheets are clean, people are polite, it’s what you call your residence for the duration of a project implementation. You strike up a few acquaintances, meeting them for drinks and the occasional dinner, but you are careful not to make friends. So you remain a foreigner, never really quite feeling at ease with the indigenous population. You pondered on this the other day whilst running through the forest. There is hardly any woods left – besides, this nation of farmers and seafarers would invariably use it for two purposes, heating up their homesteads and building ships. But Limburg must have been on a safe distance from the harbors and their fleets and far too bourgeoise to outright cull the flora when it could provide for a multitude of pastimes.
You run over wooden bridges and up leave-covered hills. Nature is still lush but autumn is slowly making its return. You miss her. The stillness, the rain, waking up to classical music, uncorking a vintage saint émilion. Going to sleep with a documentary on Charlemagne. Yes Maastricht brings back all of that…and for once you feel like you have returned home.
across fields and meadows
breakfast as it should be consumed