On my way to the serene, undisturbed small town Babenhausen, I came across a beautiful grassland alongside the Waldhäuse street, west to Berilner Ring. I have never seen such immense a grassland in my life. It stretched from the street to the farthest end my eyes could reach. There seemed to be no border of the sea of the bright green. It met the sky, and low hanging clouds at the end of your view. I was like standing in the middle of the ranch I usually saw in the Hollywood movie, where cowboys herd their cows here and there, sky is their roof, grass is their carpet.
I saw kids playing football, which seemed to be their national sport. They play football like Taiwanese play basketball. Weird enough, German call football “soccer” in English rather than its British appellation “football”, which is more wildly-used in English speaking world. Actually, only Americans call it soccer, and they don't play this sport well.
As I just thought, a horse farm appeared when I walked northward, where people can learn and enjoy a decent horse ride. I would like to try, but thinking of maybe I have to clean the barn as a exchange, the attemp suddenly became a daunting and undesirable task.
I am not sure what is was, but I would guess it should probably have something to do with recycling. German are very environmental-minded. Everyone who has been to Germany can tell their garbage sorting policy is executed quite successful. Almost all packages of food are recyclable, and bio-waste (leftover) can also be recycled. Although Taiwan can also boasts its achievement in reduction of waste, we don't push it to such an extreme that even leaves and grass are recycled.
After a 15 minutes' walk in the woods, a secret garden disclosed itself to me. The moment I saw the exquisite age-withstanding tower of the medieval church, I almost exclaimed “Hallelujah”. The 800 year's monastery is so well-preserved and cloistered in the unvisited rural Germany that its beauty is not known by most part of the world.
My astonishment was no less than Columbus when he discovered the new continent, only if I have the gift of Goethe to express my feelings.
Right in the middle of the woods, a monastery of 12 century stands as it has been for 800 years. What made all this more precious is, there was not a single stint that could ruin the picture. Wherever you looked at this small village, it is always picturesque.
The air is so clean that you just can see through it and percept the finest detail of the ornament of the church tower, or the tile of its roof.
10 minutes later, I was in the village. The village, undisturbed by the rolling wheel of time, awed we mortals with its solemn and grandiosity, testified generations after generations, that we humans are only ephemeral passengers of the history, not the master of this world.
History tells itself, need no one to edify its magnificence.
Speechless is the best complement
Makes us ponder which is the way out.
Our souls are chastened by the limitation of space and time.
Renounce what you see in your eye, then you start to see.
Situated in history, we often get lost when we forget to lift our face from time to time.
We feel pressured, hardly can we breathe.
The barriers are so high that we feel we are left without choices.
We feel besieged, nowhere to run away.
We feel freedom is so hard to be reached.
We envy the agility of birds.
Then we find a window, we find hope.
Who will listen to our prays, and who will answer ?
Convoluted branches of frame not only provide aesthetic feast, but actually showcase the contemporary extreme of technology of civil engineering.
People die, but try to carve a mark on this world.
Most of time, it is futile.
If there were God looking at us, he must sorrow.
Last glimpse to the village. Sun is setting.
How vast the world is, how infinitesimal we are.