The landscape consists of vast forests, open meadows bogs and fields.
The nature maintains by sheep and cows, and as a glorious disturbance in the middle of the moraine landscape lies the lake, Sjælsø as a sparkling jewel.
I’ve often cycle through Rude Skov and towards the lake, Sjælsø. This route is one of my favourite excursions. A fabulous dramatically variation of a landscape created by the last ice age 10,000 years ago.
NOTE
Find vej på Sjælsøstien
I kan se flere billeder fra et flot morænelandskab her:
Eventyrlig Vandring Over 3 Danske Bjerge
The Highest Peak in North Sealand
Denmark
Thaw and Icy wind
Weather is changing now. Thaw and icy wind were my companions on today’s walk.
While I write these words rain is drumming on the roof.
Autumn Conundrum
It’s not that every leaf must finally fall . . .
it’s just that we can never catch them all.
by Michael R. Burch
FROST
Someone painted pictures on my
Windowpane last night —
Willow trees with trailing boughs
And flowers, frosty white,
And lovely crystal butterflies;
But when the morning sun
Touched them with its golden beams,
They vanished one by one.
Helen Bayley Davis, Jack Frost
That’s how the light gets in
In the rising of the sun and in its going down,
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
In the opening of the buds and in the warmth of summer,
In the rustling of leaves and the beauty of autumn,
In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
When we are weary and in need of strength,
When we are lost and sick of heart,
When we have joys we yearn to share,
So long as we live, they too shall live,
For they are now a part of us, as
We remember them.
Gates of Prayer,
Reform Judaism Prayer Book
Gerry, from the blog That’s How The Light Gets in, wrote this brilliant post: Goodbye Leonard: You let in the light for us all
A desire to walk…
Above all do not lose your desire to walk. Everyday I walk myself into a state of well being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it. But by sitting still, and the more one sits still, the closer one comes to feeling ill … if one keeps on walking everything will be alright.
Søren Kierkegaard.
Forests are the lungs of our land
A nation that destroys its soils destroys itself. Forests are the lungs of our land, purifying the air and giving fresh strength to our people.
Franklin D. Roosevelt
The Complaint
There are quiet in the forest. Birch trunks stand naked in the shade. Their branches reach up into the low sun.
Then suddenly I hear a strange sound.
The sound of thawing branches complaining their distress.
While the night’s hard frost turns into a liquid form, yet to freeze once more when it hits the forest floor.
The forest lies quiet waiting for the snow.
There is a warning of snow in the air…
There is a warning of snow in the air today. It’s cold by the lake and clouds are looming at a blue sky.
The cold was our pride, the snow was our beauty. It fell and fell, lacing day and night together in a milky haze, making everything quieter as it fell, so that winter seemed to partake of religion in a way no other season did, hushed, solemn.
Patricia Hampl
Going to the woods…
The trees branches, bent to the ground by the airy beautiful substance of transformation.
Drowned paths impassable in spring when the stuff melts.
What was white and clean, is now brown, black and sticky.
Soon substance of transformation tumbles in beautifully decorated pipes.
Excellent arteries are living and sparkling in light summer rain.
Then slowly the tumbling stops and paths are covered with gold.
Days grow shorter and colder.
Trees stately sleep when airy transformation fluff feathery paint the tree branches white.
Bend them to the ground when transformation fluff are numerous enough…
Hanna Greenwood
Going to the woods is going home.
John Muir
Living on the edge…
“If you’re not living on the edge you’re taking up too much space.”
Stephen Hunt
This was his summer cottage. I overheard the conversation between two women passing me when I was going down the hill.
A summer cottage I thought? Knud Rasmussen was preparing for his expeditions as a polar explorer and wrote his travel books, scientific reports, tales and legends in this place.
In the windswept house overlooking the sea, he shared his adventures with us.
It’s a grand tale of a man who always were out on an adventure. In reality or in his thoughts.
Knud Rasmussen died in 1933, 54 years old.
Peter Freuchen, another great polar explorer and friend wrote these words after Knud’s death:
“Knud Rasmussen was a man who endured to be viewed close up without losing in value.”
Did Knud Rasmussen take up to much space? He only became 54 years old, but he achieved much more than most people do in a lifetime.
Note
Behind the town lies Knud Rasmussen’s house on a 30 meter high cliff
HANNA'S WALK 
You must be logged in to post a comment.