High skies and a light breeze.
An oak holds its breath, while a tree creeper sweep the deep furrows.
Church bells in the distance blends, with a bullfinch’s cautious call.
I take a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air mixed with the delicate fragrance of sorrel.
A slight breeze awakens the oak, the tree creeper disappears around a corner,
I disappear down the path, rested and happy.
Hanna Greenwood
Happy walk to all of you.
Now Autumn’s fire burns slowly along the woods.
William Allingham
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
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
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
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.
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
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.
When you enter a grove peopled with ancient trees, higher than the ordinary, and shutting out the sky with their thickly inter-twined branches, do not the stately shadows of the wood, the stillness of the place, and the awful gloom of this doomed cavern then strike you with the presence of a deity?
Seneca
HANNA'S WALK 
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