These photos of a city park near Little Italy bring to mind a poem by Peter Handke, that I first heard in the movie Wings of Desire, an old favorite of mine. The movie is told from the point of view of angels in Berlin who comfort humans in distress, listen to their thoughts, and are a bit mystified as to why humans suffer so much when angels are right there, all around them.
When the child was a child,
It was a time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people,
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn't exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
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