Is it possible to be nostalgic for the present? I didn't think it was, but these past few weeks have proven me wrong. I am nostalgic for these moments that I don't--can't--capture and for the ones that I attempt to capture but never fully succeed. I am nostalgic for the simple way we share bread and butter together, the times we sit in the sun doing nothing but talking about everything, and our ritual of getting ice cream every time we're in town. Stracciatella will always bring back memories.

We went to Bonn to visit my cousins for a day this weekend--Maxi and Anna-Lou are my only cousins and I'm lucky if I see them once every two years, but it's always a sweet time when we're together. We stuffed ourselves on gummy bears from the Haribo outlet and ate the best cinnamon buns on the hammock and visited old ruins atop a steep mountain. On the way home, on the train, we laid all the seats flat in our compartment, like a big bed. I laid on the cushioned seats wanting that train ride to last forever.

And I think the main reason this present-nostalgia creeps in is because I know these are the moments I'm going to miss most when I'm back home. My presence around these parts has been sparse lately, and will probably continue to be, but I got to see my dad for the first time in five weeks today--the longest we've ever been separated--and I have two and a half more weeks left here and I'm ready to make to most of it.

Here, we bicycle--to the store, to town, to church, to the dairy, to visit family, here, there, and everywhere. And sometimes we bicycle just for the fun of it. Lately, the weather has been forgiving and gentle and we've taken the bikes out for a spin through the countryside most every day. My oma and opa have lived in this area their whole life and know every little back road, barely worn trail, and densely wooded forest, and we stop regularly to buy strawberries, or to swing on a swing set, or to explore an old mill, or look at whatever else strikes our fancy. I like viewing everything at a pace slower than from a car, content to relax and leave the navigation up to them. The other day, Opa stopped at a little picnic bench and we sat in quiet for exactly two minutes (J timed it), listening to the stillness. Then we explored corn fields until rain drops started to fall and the sky rumbled thick with thunder.
And sometimes, when I'm lagging to the back of our little group, I jump off my bicycle to try to capture the way the sun glistens on a field or a horse nipping at grass near the fence (I have also become quite experienced at taking photographs while moving).

Here, we bicycle. It's a favorite part of life.

This week I went on a solo two day adventure to visit my sister Amanda in northern Germany. I could write about the things we saw and did, or the time where we tried to put together a nightstand from ikea and put an important part on upside down despite multiple references to the instruction booklet, or how much our feet hurt from walking, or the banana that J stuck in my suitcase as a joke, or maybe how I successfully conquered the train system for the first time alone without ending up in Timbuktu.
But honestly the thing that resonated with me the most was Amanda's apartment. I made so many favorite memories within the forty eight hours spent surrounded by those walls and it's one of those places where I could see myself living far too easily. The floors are beautiful old wood, the walls are white, the windows are big and full of light, and the whole place, situated on the third floor, tilts slightly to the left.
My very favorite were the balconies. There were two, one on each end of the apartment, and the doors were always cracked slightly open. When I got a free moment during the day, I'd lay on the mattress on the floor and listen to the sounds drifting from the balcony--the seagulls calling back and forth, the jangling of a bicycle bell, the smoker's cough from three windows down, the brisk clackclackclack of heels on sidewalk, and the faint piano music floating on the breeze. I liked laying there in the peaceful sun-soaked room, somehow being a part of the city but at the same time not at all.

And breakfast on the balcony? That's always dreamy, no matter where you are.

I don't have many words today. The days have been full and seem to be ending quicker than I can fully grasp them (hello, tomorrow is August...when did that happen?!), but I'm thankful anyway. I'm trying to turn off my brain, stop over-thinking everything (a near impossible feat), and live in present--sometimes I try to capture the moment too, but more and more, accurately preserving all it seems too overwhelming a task. I've turned to writing in my journal more these days, trying to capture the feelings properly. It will be good to have when I'm back at home and today has again turned into yesterday.

A few photos and some more things to be happy about:

top: thrifted || shorts: american eagle || shoes: thrifted || necklace: c/o the poppy chain || belt: thrifted || bracelets: assorted

the milky clouds of cream in tea not quite mixed || slate skies and dark green ivy || the smell of a tomato plant || the sound of splashing water || sunlight on white walls and wooden floors || people watching in a crowded city || coral shorts || sitting on the balcony and watching a storm roll in || lazy sunday afternoons || the foam that clings to your upper lip from the first sip of cappuccino || a life that sizzles and pops

Happy Tuesday!