Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:

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 In a cold wind and beneath a radiant blue (but rejecting) sky, we (the baby, I) walk undeterred through this first small autumn storm. We let leaves fall on us, let chestnuts and acorns rain down on us, let the wind whoosh in our ears, and don’t mind it when our eyes tear and our noses start running. We are similar: the sounds from our mouths are just sounds that waft away quickly. What we hear does not remain unheard, and what we see we gladly give back. And then, when we rest for a moment and chestnuts clatter down on us, we do not respond to this rage with the old passion. We are similar: we don’t collect.