A wall covered with red wild grape - the essence of autumn in the city

Here, everything is wide. The sky stretches endlessly over dunes, and the wind clears the mind like a broom through thought. St. Peter-Ording is a place of distance – between person and sea, between now and memory. You walk far before the waves appear, and perhaps that’s as it should be: a small pilgrimage before arrival.

Around me, well-off retirees, people who have settled into their comfort with ocean views and slow mornings. Whoever ends October here likely has few worries—beyond whether the tea might cool too fast. There’s a calm, cultivated contentment drifting through the air.

But nature doesn’t care. It’s rough, beautiful, and deeply impartial. Wealth dissolves in the salt air; no one shines brighter than the next. The sea keeps its distance equally from all.

Then, after the rain, a rainbow arcs over the salt meadows. A small, perfect moment. I stop, breathe, and think: it was beautiful here.

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