Jürgen Skupniewski-Fernandez

Love knows no boundaries

"You look so dreamy on your blanket in the blooming meadow. Are you thinking of something in particular?" she asked. She kneeled down, laid down by his side and crossed her arms behind her head. They looked up to the horizon, motionless and silent. Only the buzzing of insects provided an acoustic ambience and filled the silence with buzzing, humming and chirping; on this seemingly peaceful summer day. Melinda's reddish-brown wavy hair wrapped itself around her head like a wide fan. The colour has not been real for a long time. They were long since whitened from the fullness of the years. But she coloured them for him in love. He had always admired her hair and still today he lets it glide gently through his fingers. He was laying snoozing next to her and smiling peacefully into himself. She turned her head sideways and looked at him sensually. Then she asked quietly, almost whispering, like at the concerts they often and usually always attended together: "So, what are you thinking about right now? It must be something beautiful, I can see it in your eyes".

He looked up to the sky without interruption: "Look at the little clouds, in a row. Looks as if the sky is going to delight us today with a little ballet performance". She liked his poetic interpretations and descriptions. Something always came to his mind. "I was thinking just now of how we met, how we first met. Back then at Lake Balaton in Hungary", and smiled to himself. "Yes, I can remember every second. But it wasn't difficult to guide you to my blanket," she answered with a deep and satisfied sigh. It was the time when the old regime still held the country's destiny firmly in its hands and attracted mainly tourists from the socialist brother states as well as Western countries. Hungary was a very popular tourist destination.

He often had to do business in Hungary and then usually stayed in Balatonfüred for a few days. The state agency Coop-Tourist had alternately found suitable accommodation for him. Melinda came from Budapest. Not a piroshka cliché, but a young, lively, cheerful nature, who was very aware of her charms and also used them when she had a destination in mind.

Andreas was twenty-nine years old, slim, had dark blond shoulder-length wavy hair and inherited the green-blue eyes of his Polish father. He worked for an Austrian company from time to time.

It was about investments, mainly tourism. He was provided with a company car for the Vienna/Budapest route. Melinda, then only nineteen years old, was a singer. During the summer season, she was hired by the state artists' agency and had her performances from June to the end of September in a, if you like, socialist nightclub and in the best hotel on the spot, the Aura Hotel. This is how Andreas had always put it. On pre-summer weekends, Andreas always liked to spend a few hours on a blanket at Lake Balaton. Not far away there was the state-run small marina, or better, a port of call and jetty for sailing boats. There was something about it, the little flair that the sailing boats and dinghies, which were lined up side by side, radiated. You also have to consider the time and the political system at the end of the seventies, beginning of the eighties.

He laid, thinking of nothing bad, on his blanket, which he brought from his apartment, and enjoyed the late morning. He stretched out his limbs with relish and sat down cross-legged; satisfied, he looked at the water of the lake dreaming in front of him. It was not yet high season, but it was already announced. More and more small "food stalls" opened their counters, and sometimes little queues formed already, waiting patiently. Most of them were vacationers from the GDR or Poland, who were already flocking to Hungary in droves. There was a separate accommodation area for almost every socialist nationality, to cushion the term camp a little. Everything was well organised and attention was meticulously paid to ensure that Western holidaymakers did not come too close to the socialist camp. The Hungarians had a more liberal attitude. The feeling of restriction obviously didn't show up with them. Andreas blinked his eyes and was thinking about getting one of those tasty and fat fried sausages that were everywhere on the stalls. He was already feeling a little hungry. He turned his upper body to the left, grabbed his T-shirt and wanted to support himself; a young girl was sitting a good ten metres away from him in an upright sitting position, her well-formed backside outstretched.


She was wearing a short and a strappy t-shirt. Her wavy, partly curly auburn hair covered her shoulders. Her complexion was pale olive and gave her an erotic, almost exotic aura. Pale blond boys from the north dreamed of this. Andreas just glanced over and didn't move.

Melinda had already noticed this blonde. Now he had finally looked over at her." He's already a bit indecisive," she thought. So she took a handful of dark red cherries out of the plastic bag lying next to her, put one of them in her mouth and ate it with pleasure. Andreas was still sitting on his blanket, staring at it with big eyes. Melinda looked over at him and, prompting him to eat, stretched out the handful of cherries. She nodded at him questioningly. Andrew's features immediately loosened, brightened up; he smiled affirmatively. He jumped up and sat down on the blanket with Melinda





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Published on e-Stories.org on 05/10/2020.


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Book by Jürgen Skupniewski-Fernandez:


Emotionale Welten von Jürgen Skupniewski-Fernandez

In den Gedichten hat der Autor das lyrische "Ich" durch ein vorwiegendes lyrisches "Du" bzw. "Wir" ersetzt, was eine kollektive Nähe zum Geschehenen hervorruft.
Die sehr eindrücklichen Beschreibungen leben von den vielen Metaphern und Vergleichen.
Eine klare und leicht verständliche Sprache sowie wohlgeformte Reime ermöglichen dem Leser einen guten Zugang zu den Gedichten.
Etwas für Lyrik-Liebhaber und jene, die gerne über das Leben philosophieren. Eine kleine poetische Reise, die den Leser zum Verweilen und zum Nachdenken über den Sinn des Lebens einlädt.

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