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.

The Blueberry Season

I shot the blueberry season underway yesterday. An early start for a delicious morsel. The characteristic for the blueberries are an upright, deciduous dwarf shrub with dark blue berries. Shrub is from 15 to 45 cm and is easily recognised because the branches are square, green and smooth. The leaves are 8-25 mm long, finely serrated, short-stemmed and green underside. Later in the year the leaves are often brown spotted. The flowers are first light, since red-green to completely red and sitting solitary in axils. The bloated jar shaped flowers are four to seven millimetres long; the stamens are smooth. The berries are six to eight mm, dark blue, or black glistening with a purple juice that reveals the blueberry eat socket when the lips are coloured blue – Very revealing, I might add.

Wish you all a good hunt!!!

Kanotur på Mølleåen

The Appletree

A drop fell on the apple tree
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.

A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!

The dust replaced in hoisted roads
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.

The breezes brought dejected lutes
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.

‘Summer Shower’ by Emily Dickinson

Welcome to the month of June ❤

Apple tree in Brede Park

The Magic Fairy Land

Have you ever been out in field and woodland, by streams and lakes, by a tree all in blossom or a hedgerow laden with berries – and just felt sure that you were not alone?
That’s how Teresa Moorey introduce her book: The Fairy Bible.
I’m tempted to read the book because I feel deeply happy to live in a place much alike.
In these days the hawthorn blossoms on the field, Hvidtjørnesletten and makes an unforgettable impression on all beings.

I have been out there several times this week to experience the atmosphere once again.
One evening the field was kind of sacred. The scent of blossoming hawthorn was intoxicating and the quiet soothing sounds from the animals made the place magical.
The deer moved imperceptible between the hawthorns while they graze.
People seemed affected and stood still or spread a blanket just to sit and be in the present. They were lowering their voice and that might have been because of the fairies.

They were afraid to scare them away.
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.

‘A Fairy Song’ by William Shakespeare

Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane
At noon, the bank and hedge-rows all the way
Shagged with wild pale green tufts of fragrant hay,
Caught by the hawthorns from the loaded wain,
Which Age with many a slow stoop strove to gain;
And childhood, seeming still most busy, took
His little rake; with cunning side-long look,
Sauntering to pluck the strawberries wild, unseen.
Now, too, on melancholy’s idle dreams
Musing, the lone spot with my soul agrees,
Quiet and dark; for through the thick wove trees
Scarce peeps the curious star till solemn gleams
The clouded moon, and calls me forth to stray
Thro’ tall, green, silent woods and ruins gray.

‘Sweet Was The Walk’ by William Wordsworth
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Fairy Bible by Teresa Moorey