“You know, I've just noticed my shift is about to end. Is it okay if I collect? "

  “Yes, of course."

Side by side, walking to the cash register. Okay, this is really neither a woman nor a man. Funny. You read about the problems such people face in society. I had envisioned physically deficient patients. But nothing here feels deficient. Social problems — I bet. But, this seems  fine. Furthermore, complete.

 

You are doubly beautiful. In a feminine and in a masculine way. Your harmony is created by nature, a wholeness of face and wings, yin and yang.

Men and women are like single notes, like stumbling halves. I mustn’t be rude, can’t just stare.

Small delays in the motions when the waitperson opens the knot on the apron, a blink, a question mark behind brown lashes — you have noticed my glances but don’t find them annoying?

Seeing beauty is respecting someone in their completeness and their dignity. I understand that now.

 

And me? If I want my life to be beautiful - in what direction do I have to push it for it to resonate more fully and harmoniously? A weight in my chest, thirst. The birds and insects — suddenly so quiet? The butterflies glare at me reproachfully. But, what can I do?

  “Wait. I'll still take something against the thirst. I see you have homemade lemonades with mint?”

  “We do. And they are very good.”

 

A tall glass, mint leafs, clear liquid. Coins on the counter.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank YOU.”

  “Uhm —” 

  “Are you selling postcards or prints? Of the butterflies?”

  “Unfortunately not, sorry. If you like these, you’ll have to come back.”

  “Okay. I — really might.”

A long smile.

  “Do that.”

Turning away and leaving — it’s not easy. Okay. I might come back. For now back to the meadow, to my table. It seems like an hour that I left it. Two hours. So much has happened. Uff, my head. Sit down and drink. Thirst.

 

 

By now a child in a hijab has arrived on a bench close by. Next to her a school bag and — a little case, an instrument case? She’s playing around on her phone. Now listening to a voice message. A little shout and she starts to sob. Oh! I better keep an eye on the scene a little. The child clings to the mobile phone, crying. Should I go over and ask what's going on?