Hallo lieber Gast

Hallo lieber Gast, willkommen in den klaren Weiten im Norden Deutschlands, begleite mich auf meinen Pfaden durch die Natur, Ausflügen und Reisen, auf der Suche nach Ruhe und Anregung. Entdecke mit mir Linien und Freiräumen, die die Perspektiven, die Vielfalt der Farben und Formen dieser Welt und unserer Natur uns bieten und genieße Momente der Nachdenklichkeit, Poesie und philosophischen Worte großer Dichter und Denker, manchmal auch meine eigenen lyrischen Texte dazu.

Schön, dass Du Dir die Zeit genommen hast - wunderbar, Dich hier zur wissen!

" Ich muss mich ganz im Stillen mit meiner Außenwelt reiben,. sonst werde ich untauglich für die Welt."

- Paula Modersohn-Becker

Icelandic horse - My North


“There is no more sagacious animal than the Icelandic horse. He is stopped by neither snow, nor storm, nor impassable roads, nor rocks, glaciers, or anything. He is courageous, sober, and surefooted. He never makes a false step, never shies. If there is a river or fjord to cross (and we shall meet with many) you will see him plunge in at once, just as if he were amphibious, and gain the opposite bank.”

― Jules Verne, Journey to the Center of the Earth

I've taken this photo here at Lower Saxony. Nearby we have several Icelandic Horse stud farms and visiting them during winter is always a wonderful experience.

Wishing you a lovely and silent time for the last days of the year and a Happy New Year with the hope that you will have many blessings in the year to come”. 

Much Love, 




My North - The wonderful silence


The silence of December's nature refills empty space in heart and soul and I enjoy being outside at our Lake- and Moorland here in Lower Saxony, North Germany. It makes me thankful for this great and fulfilled year behind me.

“Have you ever heard the wonderful silence just before the dawn? Or the quiet and calm just as a storm ends? Or perhaps you know the silence when you haven't the answer to a question you've been asked, or the hush of a country road at night, or the expectant pause of a room full of people when someone is just about to speak, or, most beautiful of all, the moment after the door closes and you're alone in the whole house? Each one is different, you know, and all very beautiful if you listen carefully.”

― Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

Ich wünsche Euch allen einen wunderbaren leisen und erfüllenden 4. Advent, friedvolle und harmonische Weihnachtstage und für das kommende neue Jahr Kraft und Freude, Liebe und Harmonie und weiterhin Kreativität und Schaffensfreude.

I wish you all a wonderful silent and refilling 4. Advent Sunday. A season of hope, a season of love, a season of blessings. May the divine light of Christmas shine in your life this season. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. ”

Herzlichst, isabella 

Bäume leuchtend


The lovely charming and very atmosphere of the Christmas Market of Celle. The town where I live. 

It's five minutes to the end of the Christmas Market today. 

The lovely town hall fo Celle, Lower Saxony - North Germany

Yes, it's the moon!!

Castle Celle - above

Bäume leuchtend

Bäume leuchtend, Bäume blendend,
Überall das Süße spendend.
In dem Glanze sich bewegend,
Alt und junges Herz erregend -
Solch ein Fest ist uns bescheret.
Mancher Gaben Schmuck verehret;
Staunend schaun wir auf und nieder,
Hin und Her und immer wieder.

Aber, Fürst, wenn dir's begegnet
Und ein Abend so dich segnet,
Dass als Lichter, dass als Flammen
Von dir glänzten all zusammen
Alles, was du ausgerichtet,
Alle, die sich dir verpflichtet:
Mit erhöhten Geistesblicken
Fühltest herrliches Entzücken.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 


Ein Fontane Gedicht zum 3. Advent


Noch einmal ein Weihnachtsfest,
Immer kleiner wird der Rest,
Aber nehm' ich so die Summe,
Alles Grade, alles Krumme,
Alles Falsche, alles Rechte,

Alles Gute, alles Schlechte –
Rechnet sich aus allem Braus
Doch ein richtig Leben raus.
Und dies können ist das Beste
Wohl bei diesem Weihnachtsfeste.

Theodor Fontane, 1819 - 1898


Herbst in den Herrenhäuser Gärten

Komm in den totgesagten park und schau:
Der schimmer ferner lächelnder gestade,
Der reinen wolken unverhofftes blau
Erhellt die weiher und die bunten pfade.

Dort nimm das zart gelb, das weiche grau
Von birken und von buchs, der wind ist lau,
Die späten rosen welkten noch nicht ganz,
Erlese, küsse sie und flicht den kranz.

Vergiß auch diese letzten astern nicht,
Den purpur um die ranken wilder reben
Und auch was übrig blieb vom grünen leben
Verwinde leicht im herbstlichen gesicht.

Stefan George, 1868 - 1933

And again I'll take you with me on a walk at the Royal Gardens Herrenhausen, Hannover. The Great Garden has always been one of the most distinguished Baroque gardens of Europe.

Our World Tuesday - Wordless Wednesday

Find my stories on STELLER


Schloss Schönbrunn - Wien - Castle Schoenbrunn - Vienna


Aus weissen Wolken
baut sich ein Schloss.

Spiegelnde Seen, selige Wiesen,
singende Brunnen aus tiefstem Smaragd!

In seinen schimmernden Hallen
die alten Götter.

Noch immer,
wenn die Sonne purpurn sinkt,
glühn seine Gärten,
vor ihren Wundern bebt mein Herz
und lange . . . steh ich.


Dann naht die Nacht,
die Luft verlischt,
wie zitterndes Silber blinkt das Meer,
und über die ganze Welt hin
weht ein Duft
wie von Rosen.

Arno Holz, 1863 - 1929

These photos show Castle Schoenbrunn, Vienna - Austria. We've spent a long weekend in Vienna and it was absolutely wonderful in Autumn. 


Fall, Leaves, Fall


Fall, Leaves, Fall

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.

Emily Brontë

November is nearly over. The days are getting shorter and shorter,
time for candles, indoor joy, and family. I wish you all
a wonderful last November weekend.

Sincerely yours,


Our World Tuesday - Wordless Wednesday

Declaration - Chicago




City of wind and glass dressed in frozen lace,
of the wide-stone tower that would not burn,
of Lake Michigan and the poor who never
see the sun drop lines of light across the cold ache
of water, of televised faces spitting water on children
in a park obliterated of its pigeons. City of pigeons
on train platforms where trains say the names
of approaching destinations like prophets: you know
me as your restless child. I creep through dimensions
of snow-scythed wind and ruthless summers
looking for my semblance in neighborhoods
gentrified into dull disasters of coffee and scones.
I have loved you like darkness loves the base
of a throat yet songs I could sing for you
won’t come. City of Lou Malnati’s and Giordano’s,
of segregation and gang wars, of bus drivers
who seem to hate me and so I hate them back,
the blade of their impatience, the phantom dark
beneath their abrasive eyes, until I meet the one
who says “good morning” back and it sounds
like “I love you” and “I’m sorry” and I needed
to hear that this morning because traffic’s slow
as a corroded vein and the Red Line changes
races halfway through and that feels wrong
and beyond explanation like the parking meters
eating our tired bodies down to their good bones.
At night, Michigan Ave. slips on its suit of lights
and tourists while Madison and Central Park
roll restless with Shark’s fried fish and barbershops
where a boy sits with the buzz of clippers
carving something beautiful from the black curls
on his head. You’ve been on my mind, City
of African music festivals and Bud Billiken
parades, City of name changes I refuse to honor.
Sears to Willis, the ghost of a Marshall Field’s relief
oxidized into obscurity. Here is my face, City.
Here is my face and my hands are open for you.
Here is the body that has rejected your violence,
that has been missed by your bullets, City.
Here is the scimitar of my tongue to cut you
down to your particulars, in hope to find
something in you to love that will love me back.

October is nature's funeral month


"October is nature's funeral month.  Nature glories in death more than in life.  The month of departure is more beautiful than the month of coming - October than May.  Every green thing loves to die in bright colors."

-   Henry Ward Beecher  


Donau Schiffsmühle, Gifhorn - Danube Boat Mill


The Old Mill

HERE from the brow of the hill I look,
    Through a lattice of boughs and leaves,
On the old gray mill with its gambrel roof,
    And the moss on its rotting eaves.
I hear the clatter that jars its walls,        
    And the rushing water’s sound,
And I see the black floats rise and fall
    As the wheel goes slowly round.

I rode there often when I was young,
    With my grist on the horse before,        
And talked with Nelly, the miller’s girl,
    As I waited my turn at the door;
And while she tossed her ringlets brown,
    And flirted and chatted so free,
The wheel might stop or the wheel might go,        
    It was all the same to me.

’T is twenty years since last I stood
    On the spot where I stand to-day,
And Nelly is wed, and the miller is dead,
    And the mill and I are gray.        
But both, till we fall into ruin and wreck,
    To our fortune of toil are bound;
And the man goes, and the stream flows,
    And the wheel moves slowly round.

by Thomas Dunn English, 1819 - 1902

This is an original reconstruction of a watermill from the Danube. (Mill Museum Gifhorn) 

Skywatch Friday - Our World Tuesday - Wordless Wednesday - Saturday Critters



In Love with October


“October, baptize me with leaves! 
Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse 
me with split pea soup. 
October, tuck tiny candy bars 
in my pockets and carve my 
smile into a thousand pumpkins. 
O autumn! O teakettle! O grace!” 

― Rainbow Rowell

Welcome to the month of greatness! 
Wishing you all a really golden October. 

Sincerely yours,