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«I guess. They’re rare around here. I mean, in the city. Usually they stick to the park, the lakes. They say it’s good luck to see one. Have you heard of it?»

He nods.

«Yes. It’s full of these symbols: posters, magnets, stamps,» he points the camera phone again at the green and red lights illuminated on the pavilion, the silhouette standing almost motionless on this man-made cliff. «They are weird, really: the proportions, the colors.»

«But beautiful,» objected his buddy. «White always looks great.»

«It’s a pity he’s alone. I think they usually travel in pairs. I’d love to see them dance! Oh! Look, look! He jumped!»

Above their heads, spreading its snowy wings, the Siberian Crane plummets from the roof and, with a long cooing sound that resonates throughout the neighborhood, flies north to catch up with the spring coming to its homeland.

* Here is an approximate translation. With great gratitude and respect:

• * Rammstein, Spring
• The crowd begins to rage,
• They want his insides.
• And they shout.
• Jump

• ** Rammstein, Spring
• The man begins to cry
• He asks: «What did I do?»
• I just wanted to look at the view
• And the evening sky.
• And they shout.
• Jump

• *** Rammstein, Spring
• …a thousand suns burn only for you…
• Jump
• Spare yourself