SUMMER WIND (Satis Shroff) It’s a lovely morning, the blackbirds are awake and singing. Towards St. Peter and Stegen the sun has arisen in all its golden and scarlet splendor. It’s six o’ clock in the morning on my balcony. A wind blows from Maier’s hill and the rows of pine trees begin to sway. The blackbirds, finches and sparrows begin chirping and twittering in stuccato rhythm. My neighbour’s weeping willow tree on the hill begins a dance of its own, with its long flaying green branches and twigs. The wind on the pines creates a steady wave-like howling din which increases in intensity. It begins to pitter and patter, as the rain is unleashed gradually by the grey rain clouds above. Out in the blue mountainous horizon of the Schwarzwald, the sky still has a yellow glow but in Kappel, a storm seems to be building up. I sit on the chair in the balcony and drink my cuppa Earl Grey tea pepped up with garam masala, and register the rainy phenomenon. Mrs. Loy’s blue lave
