Wind in my hair and the scent of lilacs.
The blackbird is singing, accompanied by a woman’s soft humming.
That is the poetry of nature the last day in May.
A wonderful Hawthorn
Tucked between the trees is a magnificent house listed in oak for the deer’s food
One among many moods of the ancient Rådvad
An anonymous mass grave from the cholera epidemic in Copenhagen in 1853, is hidden under hawthorns inside the gate of Taarbæk
Click my picture above to read my post about the Death and the Hawthorn
A path along the anonymous graves in Taarbæk
The pond at Rådvad
Another atmosphere provided from Rådvad
I love the writing by the Danish author, Henrik Nordbrandt. His words create amazing scenarios in the cinema of my soul.
Exotic words and places, become like little boats broken loose from their moorings, to drift off in high sea. Soon up, soon down. Soon up, overlooking magnificent palaces, and exuberant crowds, soon down, where only half-truths are revealed and the rest is filled with the invigorating power of imagination.
… Around your figure stands an aura, like a blooming hawthorn had set itself on fire to surpass your shadow in beauty.
Added strings to your being would deepen the silence
or make the strings burst into song …
This poetry is taken from a wonderful poem, Alcyone and translated by myself. Forgive me for that!