June 6th, 2010
Swift and Cottonwood seasons are upon us. The air floats with singing, swooping birds and fairy puffs that sneak in through all the windows and get caught in your hair. In the parks, the ground appears almost snow-covered. Here is a modest representation, offset by the heels I was bicycling while wearing, Berlin-style, baby.
Alfonso points out an old haunt from our friend’s balcony in Prenzlauer Berg. (Click to expand.) The neighborhood is dense with monolithic buildings from the early 20th century, it being relatively undamaged in the second war. One epic apartment building was being repaired and when we wheeled passed, we rode right through a cloud of damp, old plaster smell. That is the smell of time itself.