Two weekends ago, Germany celebrated Pfingsten, the feast of Ascension. The British name for it is Pentecost or Whitsun. It is a time the freshly blooming fields, the greening woods, hills, mountains, the flowering bushes and hedges are celebrated. The enchanting cuckoo and all other songbirds have returned. My thoughts tend to go to Germany in this verdant season. I arrived there with Mutti, my German mother on June 17, many decades ago. We left the boat that ...
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