By Heidi Trautmann

Tiny birds come visiting the orange candle blossoms of Aloe Vera on my terrace opposite my writing desk to drink its sweet juice and sometimes a robin joins them to say hello to me, flirting obviously to catch my attention, we know each other.  From the birds’ activities my eyes wander further on to the horizon where I know Turkey; in this clear morning light you can see the mountain range covered in snow. It is an early January morning, sun had just got up and I am captivated by this very special moment of stillness.

It is supposed to be winter, to be the rainy season to fill the island’s reservoirs with water for the next season, to develop enough cold to reduce the growth of harmful insects, and for the trees and plants to throw off leaves before the new ones start growing. No, at the moment we have a sort of hybrid situation; while plants are reluctant to throw off the leaves the new ones already start growing. Spring is ready to get off the starting blocks and develops a kind of mating smell that enters our head and limbs. The soil is wetted through deeply and the yellow sorrel has taken over the reign giving off a juicy green atmosphere covering everything so you have to go down on your knees to free the small plants from being overgrown and suffocated.

A great feeling it is to touch the rich moist soil. I had bought two new roses for the ones that had died last year in the big dry summer heat – last year was hard on most of the plants, even the oleander bushes showed signs of giving up but small green tips prove that there is still life in them.  Fat worms turned up when we were digging the holes for the roses. The roses are in best shape now, healthy and full of blossoms, a wonderful sight; they usually have their last blooming time end of October/November, but this season it is different, they have them now in January. We will cut them down when strength has left them, perhaps in early February.

We have developed a relationship to the living beings in our garden, my husband and I, and while we wander through it we comment on the growth each time we pass, some of the plants or trees have not shown any progress since we planted them years ago. In our garden every little new shoot is allowed to grow and is later replanted at a better place.

I had to go to Girne the other day, it was Saturday, to attend the Russian children’s party for the award presentation following the painting competition. The place was full with people walking through the streets and everything somehow sparkled with excitement and the question stood in their faces: Is this spring already? A soft breeze came from the sea, the air was so clear and light and noises were magnified. It made us dizzy in the head. The street cafés were full with people involved in animated conversations, there was no tiredness around.

Along the waterfront anglers were trying their luck. When we lived aboard our sailing boat years ago I used to join them sitting for a while next to them and observing the patient play of throwing lines and waiting for a fish to bite. Elderly people sitting there on the park benches looking out to the horizon, also waiting for something.

What are they waiting for? I had met someone that afternoon who had a restaurant right here where the Akpinar Café is today, he told me…. for 25 years I was looking out onto the sea, I miss it, ahhh, times are changing….and I feel the ghosts of the past in this funny early spring weather.

Is winter over before it has begun, the long expected rain, the thunderstorms bringing the floods into town like the other day within not even one hour. But still, it was a lovely day full of promises.