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Prayer and Meditation

The storks fled across the sea to the land of the pyramids. Swallow flight is long gone, even the lark no longer sings. Sighing in a secret lament, the wind touches the last green and the sweet summer days, alas, they are gone, gone! Fog has engulfed the forest that saw your quietest happiness. The beautiful world wants to pass away entirely in fragrance and twilight. Only once more does the sun irresistibly break through the scent, and a ray of old bliss trickles over valley and chasm. And the forest and heath are shining, so that one may believe that behind all the winter sorrows lies a distant spring day.

Lord, it's time! The summer was very big. Lay your shadow upon the sundials, and unleash the winds upon the corridors. Command the last fruits to be full, give them two more southerly days, urge them to completion and chase the last sweetness in the heavy wine. If you don't have a house now, you won't build one anymore. Anyone who is alone now will remain so for a long time, will wake up, read, write long letters.

Funeral Service in Solothurn

And will wander restlessly up and down the avenues when the leaves are drifting. The leaves are falling, falling as if from afar, as if distant gardens were withering in the skies. They fall with a negative gesture. And in the nights the heavy earth falls from all the stars into solitude. we all fall That hand is falling. And look at others; it is in all. And yet there is One who holds this falling infinitely gently in his hands.