Kartause Ittingen – Monastery – Wedding Ceremony – You are mine, I am yours: you should be sure of that!

Prayer and Meditation - Love Poetry

"Listen, ohm! There's a pair of ice skates hanging in your junk room, my heart longs for it! You brought it home from London once, it's not made in the newest way, but damask, devilishly elegant! You rust it unused on the wall, you give it me!" Here, boy, do you have money, buy yourself a nice pair as you please! "Oh, what! I want the damask ones, yours!

You never skate on the ice, I mean?" The dear tormentor gives me no rest, he pulls me towards the vanished room; there are masks and blades leaning back and forth against Bayle's dust-covered dictionary, and the boy sees his prey in a dark corner behind a chest: "There they are!" I look at my belongings, the wings of youth, the steel shoes. A soft dream curls around my temples...

Wedding Celebrant

"You give her to me!"... In her blond hair, which flowed up, how lovely she was, her cheeks nobly pale and hardly reddened! ... The city lay shrouded in fog, the lake, a floor as bright as a mirror and smooth, on which the runners flew in a race, track to track. Pennants flew flags on the ice... They hovered silently, surrounded at first by many winged, racing companions - there the purple bacchante stormed wildly, here the embarrassing pedant measured the course. But she swayed with slender strength, and light-footed, airy, elf-like she glided along, barely touching the ice, until the track lost itself in a wide space and then divided into narrower tracks.

It lures her foot into solitude, to glide out into the blue twilight, into the realm of fairy tales. She didn't hesitate and hurried and saw that I was driving by her side, took my hand and only hurried faster. Soon behind us the sound of the crowd died away, the winter sun sank, a ball of fire. But the light floating, the blissful dancing, the exhilarating flight could not be stopped, and the rapid life drew warm circles on the hard, rigid, ghostly bay. The torch relay shot past us, a glowing phantom, up the gray lake...

Vows

In the still air an uncertain ringing, like the sound of a bell, the whirring singing of the ice... A dull roar that threatens from the depths. She listens, startled, she shudders, this is death! Suddenly she turns her course, she strives back, a shy bird, through the evening darkness, towards the noise and the twinkling light, she gently releases her hand..., o fairytale happiness!

She turns away from me and looks for the city, like the lost child. "Eh, ohm, are you dreaming? Won't you give them to me before the ice melts?" ... boy, here.