This morning: bright sunshine, blue sky, no wind, at 9 o'clock already 26°C; watering the flowers on the graveyard.
A voice behind me:
- Good morning, Mr. J.
- Ah, good morning, Mrs. D. The dear dead are thirsty these days, aren't they?
- Indeed, it's awful hot.
- Well, up here it's certainly a bit warmer than down there. Want to move six feet under? I did not ask.
- A bit warmer? Hot it is! Awful hot. I am sweltering. [laughing]
- Oh well. Take it easy. It's summer. In six months you'll complain about how cold it is, and the oil-price, I did not say.
- I have nothing against summer. But that's just too much.
- 26°C? Too much?
- The heat came too fast. And the day has just begun. Don't you feel it?
...
I felt ... indeed ... reminded of different kinds of heat:
In case you wish to dive a bit deeper into Harun Farocki's work, here's for a beginning.
Oh, and to the lady's question I (smilingly) replied: Yes, I do. What about just enjoying life?
And her answer: Soon I will. We'll spend our holiday in Tunesia.
