Koppenplatz, a postage stamp sized park in the Mitte section of Berlin, like most plots of urban land, has a long and continuing history of reinvention and repurposing. It started off as part of an area for cattle barns outside the city proper, then was dedicated as a burial ground for the poor, next became the center of a neighborhood for poor Jewish and Eastern European immigrants, and when full urbanization arrived was artfully redesigned into a city park.

In the Nazi reign Koppenplatz was used as an assembly point to deport Jews to death camps. During WWII French POWs were forced to build two air raid shelters. And in the era of East Germany the Platz continued as a gray urban park although a playground was added. Now in open, free, tolerant, world-city Berlin it is a green, tree-filled, well-trafficked park tucked into a hip neighborhood surrounded by desirable apartments, and inviting sidewalk cafes, coffee bars, boutiques, and restaurants.

I came to the park for the greenery, the birds, the wildlife, and the people. Practically speaking it was the nearest nature area where I could duck away for an hour while visiting my son. And I was curious to conduct an urban sit spot session.

It was just six o’clock when I settled in on a lightly graffitied park bench. Church bells chimed and pealed, three different bells, from three different directions. A light wind whooshed and rustled the leaves of the trees in front of me. Behind me, hidden within thick green foliage, a chorus of House Sparrows chirped tunefully. An Amsel, a black robin sized bird, a member of the thrush family, hopped along the ground piping its musical whistle.

The loud, excited, happy voices of children carried from the playground. From the sidewalk came the voices of two women, walking by, absorbed in a back and forth conversation. High on a tile rooftop across the park a pair of Rock Pigeons cooed and in the distance I heard the sound of a street car sliding steadily along its tracks, a medley of soothing urban sounds.

Most of the park benches were occupied, Berliners pausing, resting, relaxing for a few minutes. A man in a white t-shirt sat to my right, a young woman to my left, her bike next to the bench, a book in her hand. Straight ahead, just beyond the paved walkway that ran through the park, a line of white roses were beginning to bloom. Past the park stood a row of newer apartment buildings, four stories high, painted in subdued yellow and beige shades, red or black tile roofs, rows of windows looking down on the park. In the far distance the high bulb and spike of the TV tower at Alexanderplatz, the East German attempt at a modern, high-tech statement.

Two young women rode in the main entrance, parked their bikes, and set their back packs on a bench. One, with short, bright, blond hair, took off her jacket, fluffed her hair, and wearing a simple white dress walked over to a bronze sculpture of a table. She sat on the corner of the table and assumed various poses while her friend snapped pictures. After a number of shots, the friend approached, they reviewed the pictures, conferred, made adjustments, more poses, more pictures. Perhaps this was a school project for the photographer or portfolio material for the model. Photo shoot concluded they sat down, talked, laughed, sipped sodas, and munched on snacks.

The table, they innocently used as a prop, was in fact a memorial to the Jews of the neighborhood who had been rounded up during the Holocaust, deported, and executed. Entitled “The Abandoned Room” the sculpture includes a chair standing behind the table and another tipped over on the floor, elements that evoke the image of a forcefully emptied room. A poignant poem on a bronze plaque begins with the line “O die Wohnung des Todes,” which I translated as “Oh the apartment of the dead.”

There are more reminders of the Holocaust around the park, brass plaques embedded in the sidewalk in front of the homes of the deported. Each plaque, shined up by the passage of footsteps, notes the name, birth date, deportation date, and the place and date of death.

No fault to the two young women for using the table as a photo opp prop I thought. Perhaps the best art is adaptable enough to mean different things to different people, and to invite different uses. These two young women were surely born after the Berlin Wall came down, after the fall of East Germany, after the Nazi era, well after the end of sixty dark years in the history of Berlin.

I studied the birds of the park. Some were familiar, the pigeons and the sparrows; while others were new to me. I spotted a pair of Rooks flying into the thick foliage of a tree, birds similar in size to a crow but with soft gray-blue plumage on their back. A Black-Billed Magpie, black and bright white with a long black tail, darted out of a tree down to the ground, picked through the still un-mowed grass and flew back into the branches.

Gazing up I saw a pair of pigeons moving from roof top to roof top. Then further up, barely visible, three swallow-like birds circled high above the park. I noticed forked tails, a chunky body, bigger than a barn swallow. Quick research on my phone revealed that these were Common Swifts, skilled and constant flyers, known in Germany as Mauerseglers or wall-gliders.

I was stunned when I looked at their range map; summers across Europe, Asia and the Middle East, winters in Equatorial and Sub-Equatorial Africa, a completely different range map from the birds I knew at home, a range that included a long, perilous flight over the Sahara desert.

A parade of people and their dogs proceeded through the park. A man led or more accurately was led by a large, muscular black lab. A grandmother and her young granddaughter walked cocker spaniels, the young girl dragging her dog and chatting constantly to the grandmother who seemed to be simply soldiering on.

An older man led a small white dog that jumped up on the bench next to me to greet and be petted by the quiet man in the white T-shirt. A few words on the pleasant weather were exchanged between dog owner and park sitter. I thought Mr. White T-shirt must be a park regular. Across the park three young men sipped beer from brown bottles, talked loudly, jostled, teased, and bumped against each other like playful bear cubs.

A woman jogger with a chocolate lab ran past a young man with black shepherd on a leash. The dogs froze in place halting the humans in mid-stride. The canines shifted into wild-wolf mode, tails and ears up, circling and sniffing before allowing their owners to continue on. A few minutes later a large brown and gray striped cat padded cautiously through the park, a miniature tiger, on the hunt.

A young woman rolled her bike up to the bench on my left to the woman reading who quickly set aside her book. The two women greeted each other, hugged, laughed, sat together on the bench and settled in to a warm conversation. Two friends meeting as planned in the park. Gathering and greeting in a green space.

I saw a woman rolling by in a wheel chair. She wore a bright green tank top, had muscled tanned arms, and wheeled quickly and steadily. At her side a young girl on a scooter keeping comfortable pace, both on wheels, moving together. Their destination was the playground. The mother parked in the corner, the daughter set down her scooter, and ran to the swing set. Adaptability, resilience, and the strength of the mothering instinct were the words that came to mind.

It was after seven and my allotted hour for observation was up. The daylight had softened, but this far north it would be well after nine before the sun set. I glanced up and spotted a flock of swifts circling low over the park. I saw their brown breasts and heard their high pitched calls. As they swirled above I pictured a map of their long migratory route and thought about the recently discovered facts that they may stay aloft for up to 10 months, and that they may ascend to 10,000 feet and sleep as they slowly drift down. Something about the circling of the swifts created a resonant swirl of inspiration in my heart.

I strolled around the park, past the somber evocative table and chairs, past an older couple on a bench smiling and snuggling with their three miniature bulldogs. This city sit spot session had revealed a continuum of life from plants to animals to birds to humans, had shown the strong pulse of nature amidst an urban world, a pulse to which I felt connection and membership.

I headed back to my son’s apartment. We planned to walk to a restaurant with sidewalk tables, sit outside and enjoy the lingering light of the long northern day, watch the shadows lengthen, feel the shadows of history, take in the excitement of the present, and talk about the future.

This sit spot session took place on May 16, 2018 in Berlin, Germany.