Solbjerg Engsø! I have a fond memory of a summer day with differently coloured flowers along the northern part of the lake. The lake is known as a foraging site for resident- and migratory birds. I’m well aware that it’s too early for summer flowers, but maybe there were migratory birds. A man came walking towards the parking lot with a bird binoculars around his neck.
Have you seen any rare birds today, I asked.
No not at all, he replied. Some geese on the lake, that’s all. I was hoping for some migratory birds, but it’s probably too cold for them. We talked a bit about how cold it was. And about the relatively few shrubs and trees with sprouted flowers compared to the season. As we stood on the path, the sun disappeared and the wind picked up. If you go down to the lake there is a bench but it’s not much worth. Why not, I asked. It’s way too cold, too, he said laughing.
We wished each other a wonderful spring despite: ‘You – Know – What’☃️❄️😊
An Irish Blessing:
May the raindrops fall lightly on your brow. May the soft winds freshen your spirit. May the sunshine brighten your heart May the burdens of the day rest lightly upon you. And may God enfold you in the mantle of His love.
He gallantly stepped aside to let me pass on a narrow forest path. He told me later with a big grin that he was trying to avoid the spider webs.
If I walked in front of him, the road would be paved – so to speak. Unfortunately, I wasn’t tall enough 🤣
Your bog buddy has to be taller than you. ‘Beth from About Life and Hiking in Cumbria’ gives excellent advices how to avoid the biggest pitfalls, literally. Beth Pipe’s humor is contagious.
“You will require a “bog buddy”. A “bog buddy” is some poor sap who is conned into walking ahead of you, thus identifying the routes not to take. NOTE: for a “bog buddy” to be truly effective they need to be taller than the deepest sections of the bog.” 1.Survival tips for the bog bound
‘Lakeland Walking Tales’ introduces four books about walking. 2.Four Great Books About Lakeland Or Walking Among them is Beth Pipe’s book: ‘Gin, Cake & Rucksacks’. About a fun tour of the Lakeland distillery with Karen Guttridge, a Facebook friend.
Have fun walking. Watch out for yourself and each other. Watch out for Shelob and do not enter bogs in ‘Stealth Mode’.
It was an outstanding walk in June along the Swedish coast of Halland with good friends. Now I’m going to visit that coast again in August – September to enjoy the flowering heather. Just like Johan Frederik Krouthen did, a Swedish photographer and painter, when he caught the seascape so beautifully with his paintbrush.
Below you’ll find the lovely oil painting: Scene from Halland North Coast, by the Swedish photographer and painter Johan Frederik Krouthen. Birth and death: 2. November 1858 – 19. December 1932. commons.wikimedia.
We grasp a few apples from a wooden box, on our way down the stairs. The snowy roads are quiet, and the snow sparkles in the low sun. We park our bikes up against the trees leaning over the frozen lake.
There are all kind of people out skating. Old and youngsters and those in between.
We can hear the children screaming when one of them gets caught on the frozen lake. It’s a unified image of joy and desire for life.
The only light on the lake is the sun setting in the horizon and a few street lamps up upon the hill. Yet, it never gets completely dark. Later on the moon lights up the snow, and makes the evening unforgettable.
It is only when the cold overwhelms us that we find our way home after an experience of a lifetime.
This wonderful evocative painting from the Danish painter Anders Andersen-Lundby, refreshed one of many outings I had with my brother, when we were children.
When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks, on either side, Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still The rapid line of motion; then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels, Stopp’d short, yet still the solitary Cliffs Wheeled by me, even as if the earth had roll’d With visible motion her diurnal round; Behind me did they stretch in solemn train Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watch’d Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.
The hoarse cries of a raven put me in adventure mood. A few kilometres further on, only the creaking of snow under my shoes breaks the silence, This is an amazing day after the blizzard and the light makes my heart sing.
I’m grateful for being alive.
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the withered air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, and housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
The Snow-Storm by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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