… I am on a street corner
Where I shouldn’t be.
Alone and coatless
I have gone out to look
For a black dog who answers to my whistle.
I have a kind of halloween mask
Which I am afraid to put on. ~ Charles Simic, Empire of Dreams
Stories
Fragrance Of Autumn
We have wonderful days now. Between rainy days, the sun breaks through and the delicate scents of wet foliage bring back memories of the springtime forest.
In The Footsteps Of A King
Several times I’ve seen King Frederik 7’s monogram on my walk in nature.
Or I stumble over stories that have emerged around his activities.
He was very fond of digging out burial mounds. Fortunately, he was assisted by very knowledgeable people so no harm was done.
None of which I’m aware of. But then I’m not an archaeologist either.
King Frederik the 7th of Denmark was a colourful personality.
His greatest interest was archaeology, representation and his third wife, ballerina Louise Rasmussen, Countess Danner.
Recently I visited Frederik 7′ cave in Skodsborg. It is well located overlooking the Sound and his Villa Rex.
He held gatherings in the cave and it is said that they were certainly not boring.
King Frederik 7. of Denmark (1848 – 1863)
Please Say Yes!!!
Have you ever been exhausted after a walk in the mountains?
When dark grey clouds are low and hide the view.
When it’s cold and the rain makes the snow soft and you sink to your knees.
When you travel in unfamiliar terrain without the shadow of a human being and are elated by a day-old apple hull.
There have been people before you – recently!
Then it’s a relief when the mountain hut finally comes into view after hours and hours of challenges.
That’s how I felt when I spotted Pytbua in Tafjordfjella in Norway.
I had only walked in the mountains ONCE before, and along easy trails.
Now this walk was one that far exceeded my imagination.
I felt myself transformed back to Norway when I watched the British documentary about the great escape routes during World War II.
I’ll not draw any comparisons with the Pyrenees and Norway or the terrible conditions under which 33.000 people successfully escaped to Spain.
Among them were 782 people who walked over the high mountains of Ariege in the Pyrenees.
However, the great relief of former marine Monty Halls in the documentary is undeniably a bit like mine, when he spots a refuge after one of the toughest and most dangerous walks over the high-lying dramatic landscape of the Pyrenees.
When he points towards the refuge and asks: Is that where we are going? Please Say yes!!!
Har du nogensinde været tæt på udmattelse efter en vandring i bjergene?
Når mørkegrå skyer hænger lavt og skjuler udsigten.
Når det er koldt, regnen gør sneen blød, og du synker ì til knæene.
Når du rejser i ukendt terræn uden skyggen af et menneske og bliver opstemt af et daggammelt æbleskrog.
Der har været mennesker før dig – For nylig!
Så er det en lettelse, når bjerghytten endelig kommer til syne efter timer og timer med udfordringer.
Jeg havde kun gået i bjergene en gang før og langs lette stier.
Denne vandring var én, der overgik min vildeste fantasi.
Det blev som en rejse tilbage i tiden til Norge, da jeg så den britiske dokumentar om de store flugtveje under 2. verdenskrig.
Jeg vil ikke foretage nogen sammenligning mellem Pyrenæerne og Norge eller de forfærdelige forhold, under hvilke 33.000 mennesker med succes slap til Spanien.
Imidlertid er det den store lettelse fra tidligere marine Monty Halls i dokumentaren, der unægteligt er lidt som min, da han får øje på bjerghytten efter en af de hårdeste og farligste vandreture over Pyrenæernes højtliggende dramatiske landskab.
Da han peger ned mod hytten og spørger sin guide: Er det der, vi skal hen? Vil du ikke nok sige JA!!!
Treebeard in the Fairy Forest
I went to see Treebeard the other day and he still has a majestic appearance. If you wonder who is Treebeard I always have one foot in the world of Tolkien.
Tolkien Gateway: Treebeard, also known as Fangorn, was the oldest of the Ents, a tree-like being who was a sort of “shepherd of trees”. Very tall and stiff-limbed, with bark-like skin and leafy hair, like most Ents, Treebeard took a long time to make up his mind. He repeatedly spoke of not “being hasty”.
O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The River is flowing!
O! Tra-la-la-lally
Here down in the valley!
Treebeard
Soon the time is approaching
This morning the air is fresh and sweet. Fruits and berries are maturing and a soft breeze carries a wonderful scent and the promise of a favourable harvest. Time is now approaching for happy walks.
None of your knowledge, your reading, your connections will be of any use here: two legs suffice, and big eyes to see with. Walk alone, across mountains or through forests. You are nobody to the hills or the thick boughs heavy with greenery. You are no longer a role, or a status, not even an individual, but a body, a body that feels sharp stones on the paths, the caress of long grass and the freshness of the wind. When you walk, the world has neither present nor future: nothing but the cycle of mornings and evenings. Always the same thing to do all day: walk. But the walker who marvels while walking (the blue of the rocks in a July evening light, the silvery green of olive leaves at noon, the violet morning hills) has no past, no plans, no experience. He has within him the eternal child. While walking I am but a simple gaze.
Frédéric Gros, A philosophy of walking
Wise Words From The Bear
“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, “what’s the first thing you say to yourself?” “What’s for breakfast?” said Pooh. “What do you say, Piglet?” “I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet. Pooh nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same thing,” he said.”
The Dark Forests
The trees stand menacing like tall dark figures in the gloomy forest.
Forest lakes that seem abysmal when I try to glimpse the bottom.
A daunting silence –
The smooth surface of the rivers, which are torn by rocks.
Wasn’t that a shadow on the rock?
Didn’t you hear the fiddle?
The Old Hawthorns In The Plague Cemetery
Idyllic, that’s the impression you get when you look at the old hawthorns in the sunshine.
That was also my first thought Saturday night.
I took a shortcut across the plain after visiting some friends.
A reflection of the sun light in the night sky intensified the sight of the old hawthorns.
The tree crowns seem to hover over the plain as white luminous domes.
But when I got closer, it was the wavy, crippled tree trunks, and a heavy nauseating odour of flowers that dominated.
It looked as if the deformed trees had been trying to flee away from bites of the deer, twisting their long limps across the ground.
I chose a shortcut between the trees even though my intuition told me not to.
The silence was unmistakable and I saw no people around.
I ignored my instincts, and concentrating on the direction, and the many roots of the trees.
It was more of a sensation than a sight, as a white shadow emerged behind a tree and disappeared behind the next.
I lost concentration and fell into the roots. The pain jogged through my whole body. I was lying for a second, that felt like an eternity.
It was as if the whole body was sleeping. I had difficulty lifting arms and legs.
Suddenly I saw why. I lay under the tree trunks. My anxiety caused me to stiffen, just as the crippled tribes.
A flickering light made me look up. A light that danced around the trees to a chorus of bird voices.
Time went to a halt and I slept. For how long I don’t know, but when I woke up the sun had risen.
I got up stumbled and started walking. It was only after a few steps that I remembered the hawthorns ruthless grip in me.
I looked back over my shoulder. Behind me fled scared horses while the hawthorns had started to move.
The sight of the long crawling roots pursued me all the way to my front door.
Small roots and twigs began to penetrate the cracks in my house, crawling across the floor.
Exactly at that time, the doorbell made me freeze.
“Do you need help in the garden?”
That’s my neighbour, calling me through an open window.
I wake up happy of my self-created nightmare.
What a relief to return to the everyday 🙂
Idyllisk, det er det indtryk, du får, når du ser de gamle hvidtjørne i solskinnet.
Det var også min første tanke lørdag aften, da jeg tog en genvej over sletten efter at have besøgt nogle venner.
En afspejling af sollyset i nathimlen intensiverede synet af de gamle træer.
Trækronerne synes at svæve over sletten, som hvide lysende kupler.
Men da jeg kom tættere på, var det de bølgede, krøllede træstammer, og en tung kvalmende lugt af blomster der dominerede.
Det så ud som om de deformerede træer havde forsøgt at flygte væk fra hjortenes bid, vridende deres lange lemmer hen over jorden.
Jeg valgte en genvej mellem træerne, selv om min intuition fortalte mig det modsatte.
Tavsheden var umiskendelig, og der var ikke spor af andre mennesker.
Jeg ignorerede mine instinkter og koncentrede mig om retningen og træernes mange rødder.
Det var mere en fornemmelse end et syn, da en hvid skygge kom frem bag et træ og forsvandt bag det næste.
Jeg tabte koncentrationen og faldt i rødderne. Smerten jog gennem hele kroppen. Jeg lå et øjeblik, der føltes som en evighed.
Det var som om hele kroppen sov. Jeg havde svært ved at løfte arme og ben. Pludselig så jeg hvorfor. Jeg lå under træstammerne.
Min angst fik mig til at stivne, akkurat som de krøblede stammer.
Et flimrende lys fik mig til at kigge op. Et lys, der dansede rundt om træerne til et kor af fuglestemmer.Tiden gik i stå, og jeg sov.
Hvor længe ved jeg ikke, men da jeg vågnede var morgenen begyndt at gry.
Jeg rejste mig, og begyndte at gå. Det var først efter et par skridt, at jeg huskede hvidtjørnens hensynsløse greb i mig.
Jeg kiggede tilbage over min skulder. Bag mig flygtede bange heste, mens træerne var begyndt at kravle.
Synet af de lange krybende stammer forfulgte mig hele vejen til min hoveddør.
Små rødder og kviste begynder at trænge ind i revnerne i mit hus og kravle over gulvet.
Præcis på det tidspunkt får dørklokken mig til at fare sammen.
“Har du brug for hjælp i haven” Det er min glade nabo, der kalder på mig gennem et åbent vindue.
Jeg vågner glad fra mit selvbestaltede mareridt.
Hvilken lettelse at vende tilbage til hverdagen 🙂
The Stream
March has been extremely rainy in Denmark, and we are only halfway there. The picture I took yesterday in the rain reminds me of Bobbeå, Bornholm.
Years ago we were celebrating Easter in Bornholm. It was in March, it was exceedingly cold, very windy and the most prevalent colour was brown and grey.
But the nature was staggering. Sea, rocks and impressive streams.
We defied the weather, and walked on a path along a stream surrounded by cliffs. Suddenly the path came to an end. We looked around and saw a tempting path on the other side of the stream.
We decided to wade the stream. We took off shoes and socks and went out into the ice-cold stream.
Do you know that it hurts to wade a stream in that time of year? It does!!
I am happy that it hasn’t been necessary in Norway, but I have read about other walkers heroic achievements.
The bigger hardships on a hike, the better the memory afterwards 😊
Marts har været særdeles regnfuld i Danmark, og vi er kun halvvejs. Billedet jeg tog i går i regnen, minder mig om Bobbeå på Bornholm.
For mange år siden fejrede vi påske på Bornholm. Det var i marts, det var ekstremt koldt, meget blæsende, og den mest udbredte farve var brun og grå.
Men naturen var svimlende. Hav, klipper og imponerende vandløb.
Vi trodsede vejret, og gik på en sti langs et vandløb omgivet af klipper. Pludselig ophørte stien. Vi kiggede rundt, og så en fristende sti på den anden side af åen.
Vi besluttede at vade strømmen. Vi tog sko og strømper af, og gik ud i den iskolde strøm.
Ved du, at det gør ondt at vade en strøm på denne tid af året?
Det gør det!!
Jeg er glad for, at det ikke har været nødvendigt i Norge, men jeg har læst om andre vandreres heroiske præstationer.
Jo større vanskeligheder på en vandretur, desto bedre husker man turen 😊
HANNA'S WALK 
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