Elves, Dragons, Stars and Fairies

All magical creatures seem to manifest in a frozen tableau only to perish by the red flames of the sun.

“Promise to stay wild with me.
We’ll seek and return and stay and find beauty
and the extraordinary in all the spaces we can claim.
We´ll know how to live.
How to breathe magic into the mundane.”
By Victoria Erickson

October Light

“In October, a maple tree before your window lights up your room like a great lamp.
Even on cloudy days, its presence helps to dispel the gloom.”
~ John Burroughs

A Wooded Path in Autumn

Hans Andersen Brendekilde was a Danish painter, 1857–1942.
Title: Wooded Path in Autumn, Date 1902. Painting: Oil on canvas.

I once saw a grass snake at the size of an over dimensional bicycle tube in one of the small paths.

The snake was enjoying the sun, but withdrew smoothly into the bush. A breathless moment it was.

There are several wooden bridges in the bog. They become slippery like soap during the winter months.

Always an exciting moment to climb a bridge 😊

Song Of The Sea

Timeless sea breezes,
sea-wind of the night:
you come for no one;
if someone should wake,
he must be prepared
how to survive you…

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

A Danish painter Laurits Tuxen (1853–1927) The North Sea in stormy weather. After sunset. Højen.

The picture below text conjured up lovely days by the sea in the month of May years ago.
We went on excursions in the forest and on the beach. We only used the rented house to sleep in.
The fresh sea air, the smell of sand and the spicy sweetness of resin from the pine trees.
The scents are missing from the picture, but when I close my eyes, the scents meet me as if I were walking through the forest on my way to the sea.

One moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.

Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors
which it passes to a row of ancient trees. You look,
and soon these two worlds both leave you,
one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth,
leaving you, not really belonging to either,
not so hopelessly dark as that house that is silent,
not so unswervingly given to the eternal as
that thing that turns to a star each night and climbs-
leaving you (it is impossible to untangle the threads) your own life,
timid and standing high and growing, so that, sometimes blocked in,
sometimes reaching out, one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.

by Rainer Maria Rilke
Translated by Robert Bly