There is an art to wandering

Sometimes I have a heartfelt joy to wander aimlessly.
I didn’t plan this walk. A walk among hawthorns and deers towards the coast of Øresund.
All my worries are left  and the only thing that counts is the present moment.
Our brain needs a break so our spirit can live.

There is an art to wandering. If I have a destination, a plan – an objective – I’ve lost the ability to find serendipity. I’ve become too focused, too single-minded. I am on a quest, not a ramble. I search for the Holy Grail of particularity, and miss the chalice freely offered, filled full to overflowing.
by  Cathy Johnson, On Becoming Lost

The Summer Days

Then followed that beautiful season… Summer….
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Summer Days

Human beings are made up mostly of water, in roughly the same percentage as water is to the surface of the earth. Our tissues and membranes, our brains and hearts, our sweat and tears—all reflect the same recipe for life, in which efficient use is made of those ingredients available on the surface of the earth.

We are 23 percent carbon, 2.6 percent nitrogen, 1.4 percent calcium, 1.1 percent phosphorous, with tiny amounts of roughly three dozen other elements.
But above all we are oxygen (61 percent) and hydrogen (10 percent), fused together in the unique molecular combination known as water, which makes up 71 percent of the human body.

Al Gore, Earth in the Balance

The Sealand Alps

I walk in the hills overlooking the glorious flashing blue Maglesø.
Vines, blackberries, apples and roses present themselves in the most attractive way.
Everywhere there is a lushness and a beauty hidden in these lovely green hills.
The Sealand Alps, a nickname for a beloved glacial landscape.

…Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays…
Summer Sun by Robert Louis Stevenson

Notes

I kan læse mere om Maglesø på danskebjerge.dk
Endvidere kan I se Maglesø klædt i hvidt i danskebjerge.dk’s galleri.

When Woods Move

In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things. In physical terms, I move through them; yet in metaphysical ones, they seem to move through me.
by John Fowles

WOODS

Image by Hanna Greenwood