The sun came out on Saturday for the first time in what seemed like a month - what may have been a month, in fact. D. went out yesterday for lunch and came back in, bewildered and delighted: "Who knew there were so many people in Berlin?" Every sidewalk had at least one dog stretched out luxuriantly in the sun. As I biked home late last night in the dark, the crowds murmured from sidewalk cafes and the air was warm and enveloping and still. From afar, we cyclists signaled to one another like ships. It was the sort of night where you never want to go home, never want to go inside.
What I first had noticed in winter of last year is also true this summer: Berliners make the most of the weather. Barring a few weeks in the early spring, it always seems to be too stickily hot or windy and cold to lure New Yorkers outside; we peevishly expect perfection from the weather as we do with all other things in our lives. - But a cloudless February afternoon in Berlin will find everyone bundled up and sitting outside under blankets and heatlamps to take advantage of the sun. So too with this most recent spell of good weather. The summer, she will let you down, and you can't waste a patch of blue sky, because by the time you are ready to enjoy it, it is long-gone over the horizon. Even the air last night left a coolness on the skin, a warning, and as I waited to cross the street, I noticed the first brown leaves on the ground. ... I have been thinking of our trip to Sifnos last summer, of the Germans and Swedes who rented modest concrete studios steps from the beach. In the early morning, we would see them, nut-brown, standing waist-deep in the water, facing out toward the open sea, palms cupped by their sides; afternoons found them stretched out on the pebbly brown sand, or walking, trancelike, up and down the scant quarter-mile of beach. They did not waste a ray of the strong Greek sun, perhaps knowing that they would return home to cities where they might not feel its warmth for months on end. Even at night, they wrung the most from the heat of the day: rather than retreat into air conditioning or huddle before blue screens, the adults sat on the concrete steps in the dark, and spoke quietly to one another, while children and teenagers squatted in the sand, skimming stones into the flat sea.
What I first had noticed in winter of last year is also true this summer: Berliners make the most of the weather. Barring a few weeks in the early spring, it always seems to be too stickily hot or windy and cold to lure New Yorkers outside; we peevishly expect perfection from the weather as we do with all other things in our lives. - But a cloudless February afternoon in Berlin will find everyone bundled up and sitting outside under blankets and heatlamps to take advantage of the sun. So too with this most recent spell of good weather. The summer, she will let you down, and you can't waste a patch of blue sky, because by the time you are ready to enjoy it, it is long-gone over the horizon. Even the air last night left a coolness on the skin, a warning, and as I waited to cross the street, I noticed the first brown leaves on the ground. ... I have been thinking of our trip to Sifnos last summer, of the Germans and Swedes who rented modest concrete studios steps from the beach. In the early morning, we would see them, nut-brown, standing waist-deep in the water, facing out toward the open sea, palms cupped by their sides; afternoons found them stretched out on the pebbly brown sand, or walking, trancelike, up and down the scant quarter-mile of beach. They did not waste a ray of the strong Greek sun, perhaps knowing that they would return home to cities where they might not feel its warmth for months on end. Even at night, they wrung the most from the heat of the day: rather than retreat into air conditioning or huddle before blue screens, the adults sat on the concrete steps in the dark, and spoke quietly to one another, while children and teenagers squatted in the sand, skimming stones into the flat sea.
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