My Balcony


In the attic of our house, where the sun shines through the glass in the room and makes little spots dance on the clean white wall and on the softly humming computers, there is this French window with the crystal-clear glass and its all-time-warm wooden frame. It has a marvellous aroma like forests do, but with a trace of varnish; and when you open this door, you find yourself in a wonderful world.
Lying in a hammock above all the other people, houses and cars, just listening to the dainty silent of spring and now and then just hearing a cheerful child laughing, is a peaceful paradise for me.
The early sun is shining on the blue parapet and reflecting its beams on the walls around me and on my brown skin which smells wonderful like burned skin smells, a whiff of earth, and a touch of nature. From time to time I hear the hum of a bumblebee, and all this adds to this great atmosphere, an idea of untouched peace above the skyline of Vienna.

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