The site fences, the excavators and mountains of rubble have long since disappeared. A small park opens up before the eye between the Märkisches Museum and Rungestraße, not much more than a green area, but this term is too soulless for the scenery. The morning sun takes its job seriously and lovingly paints bright spots and stripes on the meadows and paths. The benches are also patterned, people sit on them as if daubed onto them.
A sunbed is still free and so bright that it would be a sin against spring not to settle down. Especially if you see yourself as a flâneur, as a pedestrian out of conviction. Because just sitting down is a must. Thoughts continue to wander and you can watch them from a bench. You just can’t do anything else. Everyone who starts the day very slowly this morning in the Köllnischer Park follows this law. Eyes closed, faces lifted to the sky. A woman is on the phone, and it is inconceivable that she is having an official conversation or even arguing. The light commands kind words and has the birds on its side.
I sit and wait for the voice of the city. Fighting a tiny bit of anxiety because I have an appointment coming up. Not only is it tiny, but it’s also weak and clears the field quickly. Hurry has no place in small parks, it has never learned to sit on benches and where it rules, the voice of the city falls silent. She doesn’t tell anyone who is in a hurry. Or to put it another way: she tells everything to everyone, she is not picky. But if you clog your ears with haste or plug your ears with headphones, you can’t hear them.
Fighting against thoughts of war not so easy is not far from this place of peace. The images don’t pass by, they seem tattooed into the retina. They should actually be black and white, they seem so yesterday to me, and yet they come from the new present. I try to outdo others, those of the peace demonstrations, I succeed for a little while. Because this green spot in the middle of the city with the benches on it and the quiet people also looks like a peace demonstration. And I wish, with my eyes closed, that the people in the bunkers will one day be able to just sit somewhere again. And look at the sun instead of mountains of rubble.
Book premiere of “Always nice and slow”the new column book by Barbara Weitzel, on Thursday, March 17, at 8 p.m. in the Pfefferberg-Theater, Schönhauser Allee 176.