Let me give you a compte rendu of life in general, this winter in Berlin. Some days were foggy. Some were overcast. Some were rainy. Or snowy. Mostly the kind of snow that melts as soon as it touches ground. Some were just frozen stiff. Entire weeks presented themselves without any sunlight, leaving us with more than fifty shades of grey to enjoy on a daily basis, none of which worth writing home about, much less a novel, not even such a bad one. I miss summer so badly, I bought tulips today. Pink. Three packs. One wouldn’t do it. The purchase alone brightened my day a little. And so, coming home, I wanted to take a picture of these thirty pink tulips as soon as I had put them in a vase, and rumble on about the uplifting qualities of tulips in general and pink ones in particular, and why I loved that film with Alicia Vikander and Christoph Waltz so much, but as I was schlepping them home, them and some other stuff heavy enough to justify talking of schlepping here, the little sun we had was setting, I arrived in total darkness, and as there is absolutely no use of taking pictures of flowers in a candlelit room, this kind of light doesn’t do them justice at all, I leave you with another compte rendu: the one of my way through town.