Schwarze Schafe

Bertha and Suttner, my two black sheep, are peacefully grazing around the caravan painted in deep sea blue. I can hear them smacking through the thin walls. It’s one of those sunny summer mornings that I have always found comforting. Sleepily, I turn over in the bed of my cozy caravan and enjoy the sight of the colorful pots hanging above me, gently clinking in the mild breeze that flows through the tilted window. I relish not having to get out of bed to huddle shivering in front of the stove and start a fire with my own chopped wood. Just to crawl back into bed again until the room warms up somewhat. Above me, on the roof of the caravan, which stands under a large walnut tree, my porch swing creaks in the light summer wind. No one passing by the yellow house, flanked by bushes and trees, suspects that behind the ugly, somewhat battered building lies such an idyllic garden.