Oh rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum
with the words “I love you” rolling off my tongue
No never will I roam for I know my place is home
where the ocean meets the sky
I’ll be sailing
It’s almost surreal: two days ago I was drinking chai tea in a cafe across from the Mainzer cathedral, watching the stone turn red in the setting sun and the theater fill up with people. And now I am sitting in front of a fire in a drafty farmhouse in the middle-of-nowhere Vermont, where the air permanently smells like sheep manure and the farmers are just starting to tap the sugar maples. The terms of human existence are different here–dirty rubber boots and vet visits instead of European philosophy and champagne at the opera–but equally as beautiful. And in the end, it’s the life I know best. I was a bare-footed farm girl long before I knew the heady, complicated world of German literature even existed.
Country roads, take me home
To the place I belong.
Nota Bene: Photos credited to Anna were taken by my insanely talented sister.
Photos credited to GVF were filched from our farm website.