Ailsa Craig, British poet and painter, William Bell Scott
Some journeys are about a quest: An adventure, the magic of course, and about treasures and love. *
The Matterhorn German-American painter, Albert Bierstadt
The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time. Time to think or not think, read or not read, scribble or not scribble— to sleep and cook and walk in the woods, to sit and stare at the shapes of the hills. ~ Phillip Connors
Frühling am See Austrian painter, Alois Tott
You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain; I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care. As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown, I have a world apart that is not among men. Green Mountain ~ Li Bai
The Watzmann German Romantic landscape painter, Caspar David Friedrich
The collection of pictures is from everywhere 😉 This summer is rich in natural beauty. I found amazing hawthorn in a military training area. They had shooting drills in a separate area, so no danger. By the river I find white throated dipper in winter, but now the bird is back home in Norway. The meadow grass glittered with dew, and everything oozed with Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
It is told that in 1999 work was interrupted on the main road from Limerick to Galway because a fairy tree stood in its path. The road had to be rerouted and construction was delayed for 10 years: Irish Times
The month of May, the merry month of May, So long awaited, and so quickly past. The winter’s over, and it’s time to play.
I saw a hundred shades of green today And everything that Man made was outclassed. The month of May, the merry month of May.
So carpe diem, gather buds, make hay. The world is glorious. Compare, contrast December with the merry month of May. Now is the time, now is the time to play.
Spring – An experience in immortality. ~ Henry D. Thoreau
… Now a lady came out of the carriage …
…“Miss May,” she called herself, and wore summer clothes and overshoes. She had on a beech-tree-green silk dress, and anemones in her hair, and she was so scented with wild thyme that the sentry had to sneeze...” * H.C. Andersen
… From this hour, freedom! From this hour I ordain myself loosed of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list—my own master, total and abso- lute, Listening to others, and considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.…
The meadow smells of sunshine. A large bird migration passes the moon. The horses are grazing. The fruit trees are blooming and the smell of Mirabelle flowers are mingling with sunshine. These are moods that merge and define spring.
Spring won’t let me stay in this house any longer! I must get out and breathe the air deeply again. ~ Gustav Mahler
The weather has been changing a lot lately. April fulfills her reputation 😊
We went off to the sea, but before we left home we checked the chill factor – and put on an extra layer.
They sat there on the beach in a row, people. The sun was shining, but a strong, icy cold wind was coming from the north. I couldn’t help but thinking how the sea saw the row on the beach. As if a sea can see? They sat wrapped in blankets. The blankets they should have been sitting on. But they stayed. Just a little bit more. The sea was unfolding its ever-changing canvas, and they could miss something: A lovely cloud, a sharply delineated ship on the horizon, the screaming seabirds or the patrol of the oystercatchers. The sound when a wave breaks on the reef, or a nice ripple on the seventh wave. It’s not a goodbye, but see you later ❤
My small collection of beach photos illustrate the ever-changing canvas
When clouds cover the sun, then mountains, trees and rocks turn into dark threatening shadows, so even the snow hides in the darkness. Waterfalls and wild rivers orchestrate their own strangely bizarre music and the wind howls its contribution as for chasing a fear in the lonely wanderer. Monstrous, deformed trees suddenly look like creatures from another world. No wonder that people thought there were trolls in this incredible universe that Norway’s mountain world poses. The paintings I have found here reveal the powerful effect that nature has had on the artists.
The Labro Falls at Kongsberg Norwegian romantic painter Thomas Fearnley commons.wikimedia
… And here I met trolls. Maybe it was the river that sang like that in my ears. Maybe it was the stars that were so high up there. Maybe the feeling of loneliness in here. Maybe this weird mix of wildness and peace. Or maybe it was quite simply the change of weather that quickly crept inwards on the morning twig?
At least they came that night. It was a whole bunch of trolls. Big and heavy they rose to meet over the ridge, thick and round they rolled down from the peaks, small and shabby they emerge from the heather. They climbed awkwardly on grey stones and ravens, nodded slowly to each other, shook their hams and mumbled into the air.
They did not pay attention to me … * Kari Heftye Skollerud Journalist
Landscape with a River Norwegian painter Hans Leganger Reusch commons.wikimedia
Snowfield Norwegian painter Johan Fredrik Eckersberg commons.wikimedia
Anyone who has once crossed the grey mountains of Trollheimen and wandered in the lush, wooded valleys between them, listened to the restless journey of the rivers between snow-glaciers and the sea and picked the berries of late summer, will always long to return… Trollheimen, is a mountain adventure, a mountain home that is able to enchant those who seek fresh strength in the simple life of walking.* Karl H. BroxJournalist and author
Nordic Landscape with Trolltindene Norwegian painter and professor Johan Christian Dahl commons.wikimedia
HANNA'S WALK 
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