My sister calls to me as I’m packing my suitcase: it’s snowing. I love you, too, Berlin.
The frozen puddles and channels recede into misted trees where the sky comes down into the land. The sleeping trees like fans of coral stand ornate in deep bright green. My eyes and head and bags are heavy, but my heart rolls along, my fingers tingling with the love I leave behind yet take with me; I move backwards, looking back fondly, but look at last towards the next great unknown.
Low sun puts a golden star at the top of every pine tree.