Under the canopy of leaves on the Baltic Sea island, Moritz Herrmann lets the engine roar so that his tears cannot be seen.
“Traveling to Rügen means traveling to Saßnitz,” is what Theodor Fontane once told the husband of his novel heroine Effi Briest. We Reclam slaves remember with a shudder. Well, Fontane was wrong. Traveling to Rügen means traveling on the German Alleenstraße, you can’t want more here. A hand on the steering wheel, an arm dangling out of the rolled down window, a green roof over the roof of the car and the roof of the sky above. If you can, take a convertible.
You trees, what do you want to tell me? Are you well, as well as I am? Do we want to be friends? The ash trees and crimson linden trees lean towards each other, as if there was a secret to be whispered against the Baltic Sea wind: He now again, he here again.