History on a Hilltop

Last night Lutz and I made a short hike to another grand hill right at the edge of the Black Forest, with local white wine and two wine glasses in hand. Unlike the purposeful man-made view from the Schlossberg tower (photo featured in my previous entry), this felt like a local secret. Past a lonely train station, up a hill criss-crossed with tree roots and bike trails, a few benches sit haphazardly in a spot where the ground suddenly goes level and the tree branches part. Though we weren't nearly as high up, the view of the town was still lovely in the sunset, the golden sunlight playing with the tiny squares of light illuminating scattered house windows. A German couple on another bench and a young man practicing his juggling kept us company for a bit, but they left with the sun. We had the place to ourselves and enjoyed the whole bottle well into the evening.

This view was also accompanied by ghosts of the past - Lutz told me about how in the forest, people occasionally stumble upon huge craters left from WWII bombs that didn't quite reach the city. Even today there are bombs that hit the city but didn't explode, so now they lie dormant a few meters underground until someone starts digging out a new basement. Over 60 years later, the chemicals have considerably decayed, thus creating some removing the buried historical treasure! But I guess it happens enough that the city knows how to take care of these bombs.

I'm in the middle of writing a poem about last night, but as I just started today it's far from being ready to read. Hopefully I can post it soon, along with a general update about how everything's going (such as the main reason I'm here - my German course!).