Andreas Helke
Misty Morning at the Ochsenkopf Slopes
They speak to one another in conspiratorial whispers. Improvisational masters, the forest chorus hums its reply in a fluid intercessional dialogue. They are the vestigial totems of old gods, the spirit houses of mythical creatures, they cast shadows that splay forward at every dawn, aft at every dusk. They were here before us and they will remain when we are gone; they have their own rituals and ceremonies – their second hands are tuned to the cosmic clock.
One imagines that they greet each daybreak with similar celebration – a silent hallelujah to welcome the light. “Come dance in me,” they seem to sing with beckoning arms. The refrain lives in our imaginations and is measured only by our willingness to hear the song.
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