I’m so grateful that I learned to swim when I went to the first school classes.
That sport has given me so much joy.
I took these pictures yesterday. The water temperature is 17 degrees.
I am considering becoming a winter swimmer, so I might as well start now!
photography
Midsummer, Invisibility and Freja
The Nordic Countries celebrates Midsummer tonight. We gather magic herbs and beautiful flowers, eat a lot of good food and drink a lot of mead.
If you can get hold of a Chicory, wear the root in your right pocket, then you are invisible and can open locked doors and treasure chests.
PS Freja lives in the Elder Tree
Happy Midsummer Everyone
Thunder and Cows
This was a great afternoon walk on Femsølyng a part of Rude Skov.
We didn’t catch the car before the thunder broke loose. Afterwards there was torrential rain.
What about the cows? Do they seek shelter under the trees and expose themselves to lightning?
Well, there wasn’t enough space in the car!
I always think of Johan Thomas Lundbye’s paintings of cows and landscape. This is a Study sheet from 1844 by Lundbye.
Johan Thomas Lundbye (1818-1848), Studieblad fra Vognserup. Studier af koeer og af to faarehoveder samt af staaende malkepige og en roegter, 1844-09-02
Buttercups and Fairy Miners
Everything is lush and green as far as the eye can see, but after a while there is something that interferes with the green.
Golden glimpse between tall pines. Buttercups. Billions of buttercups.
As if that weren’t enough, the beautiful Icelandic horses adorn the meadow and immortalise this vibrant summer day
That’s what walking is all about:
Beautiful discoveries ❤
There must be fairy miners
Just underneath the mould,
Such wondrous quaint designers
Who live in caves of gold.
They take the shining metals,
And beat them into shreds,
And mould them into petals
To make the flowers’ heads.
Sometimes they melt the flowers
To tiny seeds like pearls,
And store them up in bowers
For little boys and girls.
And still a tiny fan turns
Above a forge of gold,
To keep, with fairy lanterns,
The world from growing old.
By Wilfrid Thorley
A Poem is a walk
These grazing meadows are in the middle of a large wooded area.
It is an inexhaustible source of different walks.
The landscape has repeatedly been exposed to different influences of ice age, leaving a highly hilly landscape according to Danish standards. Hurray for diversity ❤
With the first step, the number of shapes the walk might take is infinite, but then the walk begins to define itself as it goes along, though freedom remains total with each step: any tempting side road can be turned into an impulse, or any wild patch of woods can be explored. The pattern of the walk is to come true, is to be recognized, discovered.
A.R. Ammons
World Oceans Day
Ocean
I am in love with Ocean
lifting her thousands of white hats
in the chop of the storm,
or lying smooth and blue, the
loveliest bed in the world.
In the personal life, there is
always grief more than enough,
a heart-load for each of us
on the dusty road. I suppose
there is a reason for this, so I will be
patient, acquiescent. But I will live
nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting
equally in all the blast and welcome
of her sorrowless, salt self.
Mary Oliver, from Red Bird
The Wind and the Lake
Windy weather is lovely. It freshens up the air, it’s excellent when you surf, a kite loves the wind and it’s brilliant when to dry your clothes.
I wanted to see the big lake, Furesøen in the fresh weather, and I was not disappointed, but my hairdresser might have been 🙂
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
Christina Rossetti
Farewell May
May
Hark! The sea-faring wild-fowl loud proclaim
My coming, and the swarming of the bees.
These are my heralds, and behold! my name
Is written in blossoms on the hawthorn-trees.
I tell the mariner when to sail the seas;
I waft o’er all the land from far away
The breath and bloom of the Hesperides,
My birthplace. I am Maia. I am May.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The view of Hjelm’s Bay
I visited the countryside yesterday. Ninety kilometers south of Copenhagen.
Tranquillity only disturbed by the wind in the trees, the murmur of small waves and good friends laughing.
The two small dots you can see in the water are anglers 🙂
Hjelm’s Bay, Moen.
Twinkling Stars on the Horizon
Twinkling stars on the horizon,
the eternal song from an embracing blue sea.
The smell of sand and sea
salt on my skin and lips.
Tales from the birds of the sea,
disturbed by clattering cups
and the fragrance of coffee.
That’s my childhood memories
and the day of tomorrow.
Hanna
A fleck of foam on the shining sand,
Left by the ebbing sea,
But richer than man may understand
In magic and mystery–
Transient bubbles rainbow-bright,
Myriad-hued and strange,
Tremble and throb in the noonday light,
Flower and flush and change.
A million tides have come and gone,
Great gales of autumn and spring,
A million summoning moons have shone
To bring to birth this thing–
A foam-fleck left on the ribbed wet sand
By the wave of an outgoing sea,
With all the colour of Faeryland,
Wonder and mystery.
Teresa Hooley
HANNA'S WALK 
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