The Carefree Spring

The tree is stripped,
All color, fragrance gone,
Yet already on the bough,
Uncaring spring!

~ Ikkyu, Zen Poems of China and Japan

The world is not in your books and maps, it is out there.
~ Gandalf

Happy Walk Everyone 🥾❤️🙂

A Feeling of Snow

The weather is cold as we enter a dark and almost eerie forest. Hesitantly, the snow begins to fall. Floating, fluttering snowflakes fall on trees, and moss. As if the snow doesn’t know the meaning of it.
Hours later, when I look over my shoulder on our way out of the forest I know the purpose. The forest has turned into a bright living adventure.
A homage to nature.

Danish painter Anders Andersen-Lundby, En vinterskov 1882

Danish painter Anders Andersen-Lundby, Winter Evening 1886.

Hanna Greenwood, An Enchanted Winter Day 2021

“There is nothing in the world so quiet as snow,
when it softly falls through the air,
muffles your steps,
lulls, lulls gently
the voices which speak too loudly.”1

Danish painter Peder Mørk Mønsted, Wood in Snow

Note

1 The danish author Helge Rode wrote the poem in 1886, There is nothing in the world as quiet as snow

Some Journeys are About a Quest

Ailsa Craig, British poet and painter, William Bell Scott

Some journeys are about a quest: An adventure, the magic of course, and about treasures and love. *

The Matterhorn
German-American painter, Albert Bierstadt

The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time. Time to think or not think, read or not read, scribble or not scribble— to sleep and cook and walk in the woods, to sit and stare at the shapes of the hills.
~ Phillip Connors

Frühling am See
Austrian painter, Alois Tott

You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.
Green Mountain

~ Li Bai

The Watzmann
German Romantic landscape painter, Caspar David Friedrich

* Inspired by Tolkien ❤

Whither Wander You?

… How now, spirit? Whither wander you?

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire.

I do wander everywhere, …

Note

The collection of pictures is from everywhere 😉
This summer is rich in natural beauty.
I found amazing hawthorn in a military training area.
They had shooting drills in a separate area, so no danger.
By the river I find white throated dipper in winter, but now the bird is back home in Norway.
The meadow grass glittered with dew, and everything oozed with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

___________________________________________________

The lovely quote is from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream:
Puck and Fairy, Lines 1-17
Performance
Act 2,
Scene 1

Poem of The Road

From this hour, freedom!
From this hour I ordain myself loosed of limits and
imaginary lines,
Going where I list—my own master, total and abso-
lute,
Listening to others, and considering well what they
say,
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of
the holds that would hold me.

~ Poem of The Road by Walt Whitman

Leave Nothing But Your Footprint ❤ Happy Walk

Today is just that kind of day

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

~ Billy Collins

Polish painter, Leon Wyczółkowski,
Spring in w:Gościeradz
Wincenty Wodzinowski
Wiosna
H. A. Brendekilde
Forår i landsbyen med piger i vejkanten
Danish painter, Peter Mork Mönsted
A spring morning in the village, overlooking Roskilde Fjord.

The last Day in May

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

Exotic Words and Places

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!

Henrik Nordbrandt

A Secret Gate

Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate
And though I oft have passed them by
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Lighthearted Birds

On my walk towards the sea today, I heard the skylark and the lapwing. The larks song was persistent, and suddenly it flew quite close to me. I think the bird was frolicsome 🙂
All the birds were busy. Buzzards gathered, and rose on thermals while their screams mingled with ravens and crows.
On my way home I even heard the yellow hammer.

March! March! March! They are coming
In troops to the tune of the wind.
Redheaded woodpeckers drumming,
Gold – crested thrushes behind;
Sparrows in brown jackets, hopping
Past every gateway and door;
Finches, with crimson caps, stopping
Just where they stopped before.
March! March! March! They are slipping
Into their places at last. . .
Literature white lily buds, dripping
Under the showers that fall fast;
Buttercups, violets, roses;
Snowdrop and bluebell and pink,
Throng upon throng of sweet posies
Bending the dewdrops to drink.
March! March! March! They will hurry
Forth at the wild bugle sound,
Blossoms and birds in a flurry,
Fluttering all over the ground.
Shake out your flags, birch and willow!
Shake out your red tassels, larch!
Grass blades, up from your earth – pillow.
Hear who is calling you. . . March.

Lucy Larcom, March