Erlengrund

A rowing boat sways lightly on the lake. Its water translucent, crystal clear, and an invitation to dive in. Lakebed to surface, connected by the long stalks of waterlilies. There are dozens of them, each reflecting sunlight in their own unique way, like a floor of shimmering mirrors. 

The sun radiates in late summer's warmth. Her rays shine through the long branches of poplars that tower high above the moss-covered huts. The world is touch, I remember, as I glide my fingertips along the fine edges of reeds and the contours of blossoming flowers.

Meanwhile, two white cabbage butterflies flutter and chase one another, drawing me into fields that seem neither far nor near, neither fully dream nor entirely real.  

Erlengrund is a place of repose and reclusion, of reconnection to self and cycles. To set foot on Erlengrund is to step into a portal that transports me deeper within and simultaneously farther outwards — into the Earth's ever-fluctuating body. I come here to trade Berlin’s bustling city life for the buzzing of bees and whispering reeds. To retrieve myself, yet paradoxically, only to get lost again in the process. Lost in a different experience of time, not dictated by the mind but by the flow of seasons and the circle of moon and sun.