The days are getting longer. Our greenhouse is only closed at night now. During the day, the sun gets trapped inside, and it immediately becomes so hot that we have to air it out. When my two partners have left for work, I slip out of my dressing gown, if I'm wearing one, and into this warm place, where there's now plenty to do. The seeds need to be repotted and pricked out. But the hammock is also waiting for me, where I spend a lot of time thinking about the coming months. I'm starting an internship in Eberswalde and then, in the fall, I'll be studying to become a midwife in Berlin. Lost in thought, I'm no longer even aware of my nakedness and notice a yellow-clad man standing at the entrance to the greenhouse. A good old acquaintance. I ask him if he wants some of my coffee and offer him a seat. It's the postman. We're happy to see each other again, as he'd been given a different route over the winter, and I'd lost track of him. We talked for about twenty minutes, just me being myself, and he'd already noticed that the greenhouse was well over 25 degrees Celsius. I invited him to come for lunch after his tour, which would be in three hours. Then he could get naked if he wanted. We finally exchanged numbers, with the promise that he'd either accept or decline. I then escorted him, still naked, to the street, where a food delivery man from Wolt whizzed past us on his e-bike. The Indians. Always deep in conversationpresumably with their families. He smiled briefly and lifted his head. I waved. Then I went back to what I was doing in the greenhouse. (Not without greeting the neighbors who were standing by their fence talking to a passerby.)

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