I’m looking out of the window. Silently and softly the snow falls down to the lawn behind my apartment. But there’s no chance for the snow flakes to survive, since it’s a bit to warm here. Back at my parents’, there was about 50cm snow last week. But in Zurich … anyway. Where do the ducks go in the Winter? A reasonable question, I think. But those of you who know Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye also know, that there’s more behind it. If you don’t know it, go to the library and borrow it, or just simply buy it …
I see. Maybe I’ll read it again. Everything’s quite like the seasons, recurring again and again: people I know and like, music, poems but also anger, frustration … and a lot of thoughts which I’m not going to mention in detail here. But think bigger: when all is said and done, we also start again … so why care?