Bengali oud
Bitter orange
Black ambergris
Boronia
Cedar
Civet
Fruits
Galbanum
Geranium
Himalayan musk
Irish ambergris
Neroli
Patchouli
Peru balsam
Tobacco
Vanilla absolute
Vetiver04/13/2025
Rosalie234
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11
Feet in the summer wind
-What is narrowly circled around us
sacred in silent greeting;
already immorally interwoven
the meadow kisses her foot
(from: Rudolf G. Binding The Poems Complete Edition 1937)
Summer starts slowly and we sit unsuspectingly on the promenade. The gentle sea breeze caresses our faces and our feet dangle splashing in the shimmering blue water.
But what is tickling our little feet?
The emotional rollercoaster runs through many facets, stopping first at a basket full of exotic fruit, infused with carnations and skewered with roses. No suffering, but a reward for the small animals that keep us company.
We remember. We remember the childhood that shaped us. Earthy warm liquorice sweets, sour discolored tongues and moist mud touching our lips. Gently, the salty rhythm of the sea, surrounded by ice, leaves a hint of tenderness as melted wood washes up on the shore.
Here we are untouched. Here there is no plastic among the rubble - here nature has not been defrauded by man.
The little beavers have fought their way through the salty water. The little beavers crunch. The little beavers nibble their way through the colorful meadow. This weed leaves traces between their teeth, it cannot be penetrated. It completely covers the bubbling little water and leaves behind melancholy full of joy.
I lower my gaze to the sky, lift my feet and let myself be sprinkled. The ground is closed, the water flowing around me - but the winds tame me.
Black clouds whip, open a clearing above me and drop delicate vanilla flakes.
°°The sad story
Moves you to tears?
You feel the pangs of pity;
Only, Chloe, not for me!°°
(from: Daniel Schiebeler's Selected Poems 1773)
sacred in silent greeting;
already immorally interwoven
the meadow kisses her foot
(from: Rudolf G. Binding The Poems Complete Edition 1937)
Summer starts slowly and we sit unsuspectingly on the promenade. The gentle sea breeze caresses our faces and our feet dangle splashing in the shimmering blue water.
But what is tickling our little feet?
The emotional rollercoaster runs through many facets, stopping first at a basket full of exotic fruit, infused with carnations and skewered with roses. No suffering, but a reward for the small animals that keep us company.
We remember. We remember the childhood that shaped us. Earthy warm liquorice sweets, sour discolored tongues and moist mud touching our lips. Gently, the salty rhythm of the sea, surrounded by ice, leaves a hint of tenderness as melted wood washes up on the shore.
Here we are untouched. Here there is no plastic among the rubble - here nature has not been defrauded by man.
The little beavers have fought their way through the salty water. The little beavers crunch. The little beavers nibble their way through the colorful meadow. This weed leaves traces between their teeth, it cannot be penetrated. It completely covers the bubbling little water and leaves behind melancholy full of joy.
I lower my gaze to the sky, lift my feet and let myself be sprinkled. The ground is closed, the water flowing around me - but the winds tame me.
Black clouds whip, open a clearing above me and drop delicate vanilla flakes.
°°The sad story
Moves you to tears?
You feel the pangs of pity;
Only, Chloe, not for me!°°
(from: Daniel Schiebeler's Selected Poems 1773)
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