I crept up barefoot. Not a sound. Just don't step on a branch that might crack and give me away. It's already dawn. I lie in wait behind a small hill. Grass and moss, a soft stalk. I have the two entrances to the roof castle firmly in view. Will the secret digger with the black and white fur show himself tonight? There's a cornfield nearby with crunchy cobs that he likes to gnaw on. Let's see. The longer I lie and lurk, the more the scenery of the "Red Cliffs", a natural monument near Adorf, becomes blurred. Images of my childhood are pushed over it. The huge boulders of ironstone, 350 million years old, become the walls of a canyon. The burial holes, left over from medieval mining, are transformed into hiding places for the Indians from the advancing cavalry. The dense ring of wild roses framing the red stones in green provides my tribe with protection from intruders. Continue reading
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