's the way it is - cold, rain, snow, forcing man to withdraw into themselves. I recall a recent conversation, which was raised the question of what factors might have an impact on the shaping of cultures (even in the Mediterranean region compared with regions located further north), of course, appeared at the same time as the weather and all its implications for the conditions for farming and human activities.
Many of these considerations is of course speculation, because, for example in Central Europe is located roughly in the same zone, the weather - although it developed its so very different culture. And perhaps we should look at this another way: Are they so different from each other?
drove too far, however, I wanted to write about something completely different (even if, to which I have to admit these thoughts preoccupy me more - and never at the same time I can get rid of the belief that I'm chimera, half German and half Polish).
Specifically - cold, rain, snow, forcing the writer to go back into themselves. Now you finally and irrevocably in Gdansk will be ugly. The wind whips and breaks up the last leaves from trees, a small park outside my window all died, the list is dwindling, even the exact clone of growing unless the St. Mary Church.
Rain and sleet will bring even the greatest lover walks back to his desk, his hand to attract a pencil and lead him on sheets of paper hung on the wall.
All this substance that has been absorbed, will now be transformed into fiction, into something spontaneous. Old Suburb and the Lower Town, fortifications. Wake up to new life on paper, very soon, and meanwhile the rain pushing on the glass.
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