It’s February, and it’s unseasonably warm. The whole morning is dominated by a disgusting, opaque fog. In winter, I can’t find anything positive about the fog. It’s awful, the feeling of being wrapped in “cotton wool,” unbearable for the soul in the long run. The day is demanding, the customers are impatient, the colleagues don’t deliver as promised, and it seems like there are only problems in the world that can’t be easily solved even with a lot of creativity. Just a day to forget.

On days like these, I hike up the mountain. I have a small, steep mountain almost right outside my door. I choose the steepest unpaved path and walk as fast as I can (and sometimes it’s not really fast at all). I’m out of breath, and that’s good because when I have to focus on getting enough air to ascend, the insults and little nastinesses of the day, as well as the world’s biggest problems, become quite insignificant. Actually, they disappear, and I leave them beneath the mountain. That’s the real reason why the mountain draws me so magically. As I climb, I empty my mind and occasionally get annoyed about how I could let myself get so out of shape again and pant like a bellows. I sweat, I pant, but I feel wonderful.

I can see the path I choose from the window. Rarely does anyone choose it. On this path, one is alone. It’s simply steep, and when it’s not paved, especially when it’s wet, it’s slippery and even more challenging. I climb up to the edge of the forest. It’s already dusk, and I can only imagine the lights of the town behind my back. I’ll turn around when I reach the first tree, then I’ll admire the illuminated little town. My mind is already empty! Hooray, not even at the top yet, and the goal is already achieved. I hear the crows. I see them flying over the forest and perching in the tall trees. There are many, very many even. I think crows are fantastic. I really liked the raven from “The Little Witch.” But I wished for a crow. I dreamed of finding an abandoned crow, raising it, and maintaining a free but inseparable relationship with it. I know, totally naive. Many wishes remain wishes. In Switzerland, it’s illegal to keep a wild bird like that. I also didn’t want to keep the crow with me. It would be free but regularly visit me. For a “chat,” to feel belonging. A crow would be better than a dog or a cat. Crows are inventive, articulate, and use tools. Several research projects show that crows can even plan their future. Crows can recognize human faces. Such a crow would be something wonderful.

But as I climb the mountain and the flock flies high above, Alfred Hitchcock and his horror film “The Birds” from 1963 come to mind (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fJh2gIBOto), where the birds suddenly go berserk. What a thought, if this flock were to target me now. My imagination runs wild, and I devise my own defense strategy. Fantastic apocalyptic images dance in my mind, and I let them develop further and enjoy the free cinema on my hike. It’s only a brief fantasy, and the crows don’t quite participate because they settle back into the trees and remain calm and still.

I reluctantly walk back into town. It’s already dark, and the city is lit up. But my mind is wonderfully cleansed, and I can once again follow the motto: Don’t think after, don’t dwell, look ahead!