HANNA'S WALK

Sunken ancient roads and old bridges. I think it is fascinating to imagine what challenges people had in the old days when they travelled through the landscapes.

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People have been very exposed to all kinds of weather with the equipment they had back then. Passages through wetlands must have been very challenging.

Ellemosen is a wonderful marsh with a 2,800-year-old paved path, and a 5,200-year-old pile-built bridge, which today is hidden underwater.

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Now new paths have been established in the marsh, but for a completely different purpose. Birds and beavers are waiting for your visit.

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Far out in the marsh is a very nice and cozy hide in an old pumping station.

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Inside the hide, there are lots of information about what kind of birds you can see in the marsh.

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The picture on the right shows the 2,800 old paved path, and on the horizon Tibirke Church is seen as a small red dot.

DSC08167On my way towards Tisvilde Beach, I make a detour in the hills of Tibirke Bakker, up to a place called Udsigten, ‘the view’.
To the right, I see Arresø with Arrenæs and to the left a glimpse of Kullen’s ‘blue mountains’ in Sweden. In the middle of it all lies Holløse Bredning, the marsh.

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I continue my walk down to Skovkærsvej in the forest, Tisvilde Hegn and out to the sea.

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I can highly recommend a walk in this wonderful area ❤


On my way to the grocery a kind of cry from a duck attracts my attention. Beside the duck is a tree and up high is a tiny duckling wriggling itself out of a hole.
Suddenly it succeed and the duckling whirls through the air, to land dizzy and startled in the green grass.
Mother duck is in place with an urgent call. Five minutes later she walks proudly around in the grass with her ducklings. Mission accomplished 🙂

If You Have Ever Gone To The Woods With Me…

How I Go to the Woods, by Mary Oliver

Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they
are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable.

I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging
the old black oak tree. I have my way of praying, as you no doubt have yours.

Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of
a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses
singing.

If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

This morning I watched the deer
with beautiful lips touching the tips
of the cranberries, setting their hooves down
in the dampness carelessly, isn’t it after all 
the carpet of their house, their home, whose roof
is the sky?
Why, then, was I suddenly miserable?
Well, this is nothing much.
This is the heaviness of the body watching the swallows
gliding just under that roof.
This is the wish that the deer would not lift their heads
and leap away, leaving me there alone.
This is the wish to touch their faces, their brown wrists –
to sing some sparking poem into
the folds of their ears.

then walk with them,
over the hills
and over the hills
and into the impossible trees.

This Morning I Watched the Deer, by Mary Oliver

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