Small town charms (2)

Due to fatigue and a few other factors, I could not bring myself to post yesterday. I had to be able to relate Sunday's events and experiences with some clarity. I may not be that much clearer this morning, but I'm getting there.
Around 8:00 a.m., Eddie and I took some food to the park across the street from the hotel. While a few joggers and dog-walkers passed, we ate, watched the birds and - above all - absorbed the sights, sounds and smells. Being present - mindful - is so difficult when travelling. Perhaps it is always difficult to be mindful, but the alertness someone (someone like me, anyway) requires to keep all the balls in the air while away from home makes mindfulness especially hard to achieve. Many times, I have asked myself or Eddie, "Where are you?" If not here, on this corner, under this tree listening to a blackbird, then where? In your head, tallying up euros spent, or back home?
A quiet place allows that monkey mind to settle a bit. The monkey finds less to monitor, allowing greater processing of both inner and outer.
The time in the park allowed for this. Lovely.

Later in the day, we walked through town. A few shops were open for tourists (Sunday is not just another shopping day in Germany, unlike back home). I bought a few mementoes of Weimar, nothing much. While having a snack at an outdoor cafe, we heard a busker tune his cello. "That sounds like the key of Bach's cello pieces," I said. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the young man launched into my absolute favorite, the First Suite for Unaccompanied Cello. I wandered up and hide behind a large tree, listening with almost all of my being. I admit I thought of how I might appear to others passing me as I stood there (quite overwhelmed). I thought of how precious the moment was (and would be in retrospect). But I am happy to report that I managed to listen and feel and enjoy. Those words are understatements, for sure.
Later on, as the sky clouded over, yet again, we walked in the cemetary beside the second hotel. (We misjudged when deciding to stay only one day out of three at the first.) I happened upon a map. We had chanced upon the very graveyard where Goethe's family plot lay there, as well as the grave of Charlotte von Stein, one of the many women in his life who inspired him! Eddie and I started to search, but we found the twists and turns confusing. Thinking the cemetary would close at 6:00, we tried to find the exit. The gloomy evening, heavy tree cover, many birds, flowers, and centuries-old graves closed in on us. At last, we saw a gate in the distance. On the way there, we found by accident the markers we had sought intentionally. Goethe's children (and grandchild?) were buried there, but not him.
I remember checking to figure out if he could have any descendents, and being sad to learn that all his grandchildren (maybe two or three of them) died before reaching maturity. Not unusual for the day, but the drawings suggested very weak-looking faces (at least they did to me at age 17). So the great man's writing and drawings are all that remain of him in the world - but what a legacy.

Charlotte v Stein's grave