Home that is
true north.
Home that is
the land of horizons,
the land between the seas,
North Elbia.
Home that is
salt on my skin,
wind in my hair,
spume on my clothes.
Home that is
when rubber boots and yellow Friesian mink are appropriate everyday clothing,
when Bad Hair Day is three hundred and sixty-five times a year,
when wind force six is a mild breeze at best,
when three snowflakes cause traffic chaos,
when you ski only on the water,
when dike and dunes are my mountains,
when you don't go climbing in the mountain range but stone hopping on the beach,
when you can see from here to Hamburg,
when everything south of Hamburg is South Germany,
when nobody celebrates Carnival but Fasching,
when the bustle pots knock at the door,
when everything has been said with "Moin" and "Jo".
We're not just fishbrains.
We are Kiel’s sprats, Husum’s shrimps,
Dithmarschen’s grouch skulls, Segeberg’s cowboys,
Schleswig’s vikings and Wacken’s metal heads.
Streamlined and storm proven.
"Storm is not until the sheep have no curls anymore."
~ North German proverb ~
Read the German original here: https://belletristica.com/de/books/51237-mind-of-april/chapter/284928-zuhause-das-ist
