RossiFee

An evening in August 1992.
It was one of those unspectacular vacation days that will remain in my fondest memory for a lifetime.
At that time, as far as I know, there were no "vacation programs" that were allowed to entertain the children from the age of 5 every day.
I have here only the Pathfinders in the head, where the boys told their adventures after the vacations.
Until I was 13 years old, I grew up in the countryside.
In the midst of natural meadows and fields as far as the eye could see.
We country kids were "just outdoors".
In nature.
Unconstrained, carefree, creative and imaginative.
At least during the big summer vacations, I often had the feeling that the big wide world was at my feet...

Back to the summer evening in August 1992 or maybe 1993 ?...

I sit in the parental red Jetta.
(Where our ride went I can not remember for the life of me.)
I roll down the window with both hands. Stretch my hand in the cool Fahrwind.
The sun sinks much earlier than it did a few weeks ago. The balmy evening is suffused with the first cool forebodings of late summer.
The hair flutters strands in my face and tickles my nose.
There are few on the road on this remote country road.
In front of us nothing but mown meadows and cornfields.
I hold my nose out the window and take in this beautiful evening atmosphere.
I can still smell the fresh hay on this cool already damp field.
Spicy herbs and sweet flowers exude their most beautiful aromas in the twilight.
Would like to lie down in this dreamlike bed of hay and straw.
I have to yawn.
Slowly I crank the disc a little higher.
Let me fall into the seat.
Stroke my hair from my face and see the first stars flare up.
It is quiet in the car, my little sister next to me is already asleep.
I also close my eyes and let myself fall into the hay bed.
I still wish this summer and the great vacations should never end.

The song of chirping crickets lulls me to sleep...

Iris holds the prayer book firmly in her hand.
Determined, she opens the requested page in the praise of God.
To her great joy.
Resembling a tremor, the congregation rises.
A divine chant follows.
Actually, Iris is not a great believer.
She just likes to sing melancholy tunes in this old place with its pompous, holy observers, who seem to know so much, only to reveal nothing.
She hears the voices of others.
The choir of angels?

Today she dares!

She will drown out all!

At the top of her lungs, all her strength she will need, all will look to her!
It tingles in her whole body, soft knees, her hands trembling and wet she presses the black book even tighter to her.
Her heart beats faster and faster, heavy breathing. Iris takes a deep breath...

Silence.

The crowd of worshippers settles down on the creaky old wooden benches and folds their hands.
Here and there a slightly suppressed cough and throat clearing.
The song-saturated air is cleansed by thick clouds of incense. Until the last note has faded away.
The expectant silence and the prompting of an introspective prayer forces Iris back into the depths of the unfriendly, hard, and eternal pew.

She missed her cue.