Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Nothing gold can stay ~ Robert Frost
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
The way to read a fairy tale is to throw yourself in. ~ W.H. Auden
There are special days in life that stands out as bright memories. There might be joyous days with the ones you love. And then there are days when you are out on your own. Days which are perfect for exploring all kind of winding paths in the woods.
It was on such a day, a spring day when I heard a deep hoarse call above the path. The tree tops formed a perfect acoustic space for bird song. A green airy room. Light-hearted I walked under the beautiful arch.
Suddenly, the deep hoarse call came back. I looked up into the foliage vault, as a large black bird flew into the woods and back over the source.
Now I saw them. Two young ravens sat perched on a branch waiting for food and the latest news from the outside world.
On this wonderful autumn day I can not help but look for the ravens from that glorious day in spring.
Today Sophienholm is considered one of the leading representatives of Danish salon life in the 19th century.
The crisp clear air, that’s what I love so much about autumn. We had a lovely view from the northern part of Furesøen.
A few days ago I walked along the edge of the lake and was treated to the crunch and rustle of leaves with each step I made. The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air.
~ Eric Sloane
I had a wonderful walk in the bog today after many days of rain and fog.
Why do two colors, put one next to the other, sing?
Can one really explain this? No.
~ Pablo Picasso
All colors are the friends of their neighbors and the lovers of their opposites.
~ Marc Chagall
Note
I was inspired by Steve McCurry’s blog
What does the cup of ocean hold?
Glory of purple and glint of gold;
Tenderest greens and heavenly blue,
Shot with the sunlight through and through;
Wayward ripples that idly roam.
Tumbling breakers with gallant foam;
Sands and pebbles that chase and slide;
Mystic currents that softly glide;
Mighty spell of the ages old,
This does the cup of ocean hold…
~ Amos Russel Wells
The village is peaceful. It’s like stepping into another world. A pleasant world.
HANNA'S WALK 
You must be logged in to post a comment.