I nearly didn’t come back.
I’m in Berlin, again. A city that lights me up, fills me up. A city in which you can do nothing and feel like you’re doing everything.
The sun is shining, but the clouds are moving in. There’s a breeze lightly touching my skin, papers with MoFo notes blow about.
Wait staff switch from breakfast to lunch. Table umbrellas go up. Tables get cleared. The now partial emptiness allows time for coffee to be sipped, cigarettes smoked.
Those patrons left, are deep in conversation, a presence is felt, stories shared.
Heads are in newspapers, a crossword is done.
Deliveries are made, hands shaken.
Early morning clubbers stumble past, oblivious to the world.
Two fathers adorned with piercings, mohawks, dressed head to toe in black, hold their daughter’s tiny hands. Little girls dressed in every colour possible are told to wait and watch for traffic.
I sit here, observing. Witnessing. Taking in all I can.
I’m surrounded by colour. Walls with their graffiti. Posters upon posters. Greenery swaying up above.
A guy rides past, shirtless, hands around a baguette.
A girl in a red dress, walks past. Greets friends. Decides to sit down.
Music plays.
To their own tune, leaves move.
Beers are had by canals. People with their bikes gather in parks.
New friends are made. More laughs are had. A generosity of spirit is felt.
A gratitude moves through me, I tear up momentarily.
I nearly didn’t come back to Berlin. I’ve been here a number of times, always in the winter. Never in the summer. Everyone said ‘you’ve got to do Berlin in the summer’.
I nearly didn’t come back. I’m so glad I did.
