I left Kirchhain, I left my own story. I knew they would be talking about me. I don't know if they knew I would be talking about them. People often think they are just people, nothing special, leading their everyday life, doing what everybody is doing. They don't realise they are a unique combination of habits, charactistics, looks, feelings. Maybe their dreams are other peoples real lives. Their future seems to be in reach always. But there is an honesty in what they are doing, others can't compare with. A loneliness they are not aware of. A way of being in the world I was born into but moved away from. A forced easiness, balanced well through generations of practise.
I left Kirchain with a goal. A campsite. I left the R2 bike trail I had followed since Cölbe, planning to get back on it around Alsfeld. The second Ice Saint, Saint Pancras, walked beside me. Sun at times, showers. I've got good raingear but I prefer to take a break when there is a short outburst of rain. There is always something to do. Fill my stomach. Empty my bladder. Check my map.
I arrived just in time to pitch my tent before the black clouds reached the campsite. A nice and quiet place, not too big. And there was a small restaurant with a fire burning.
There was no menu, there wasn't much to choose from. But I didn't mind. There were only two other customers. It must be hard to keep a small campsite running. I noticed how eager the owner was to sell some food, to earn some money. Not in a bad way though. I ordered what was there, sausage and potato salad. I asked for a green salad. He explained they didn't have fresh salad this time of year because there were so little customers, it didn't keep. He tried to sell me the soup but I didn't feel like soup. I almost ordered it though.
10 minutes later he brought me the salad his wife had made. She had used everything she had been able to find and arranged it like a piece of art. I decided to love corn for one day only.
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