I don’t know about you but after a walk in the rain I found this great idea for a late summer walk in a glacial moraine landscape next to Arresø. We did the walk in the month of May, one of my favourite month.
Most of the surrounding land is made up of the last glacial moraine landscapes, but in addition there are widespread post-modern formations that are the result of land elevations, sea rises, water and wind erosion as well as sea and fresh water deposits, etc.
The central and southern part of the peninsula consists of a high-altitude, steadily hilly terrain with the highest point Maglehøj, 70 m above sea level, while the northern part consists of a low-lying, hilly terrain with the highest point of Little Maglehøj, 27 m above sea level : Naturstyrelsen
I came across wonderful poetry by Daniel March written in 1869 and found it to be a religious text. That is not my reason for quoting the poetry, but because the description reminds me of the overwhelming joy it is, to walk in nature. When the clouds cast their shadows over hills and rivers, mountains and lakes in an ever-changing game.
The poetry of nature.
Clouds are among the most striking appearances in the natural world. Whether heralding the dawn with beacons of flame and banners of gold, or escorting the sun’s descending car with armies of light and sapphire thrones; whether clothing the mountains with garments of beauty, or enriching the landscape with flying shadows; whether shading the weary from the noonday heat, refreshing the field and the garden with gentle showers, or shaking the earth with mighty thunders; whether moving in silent and solitary grandeur along the blue deep of the sky, or covering the whole heavens with black and jagged masses, torn by the tempest and hurled onward like charging hosts in the shock of battle,—glorious in the morning, grateful at noonday, prophetic of the dawn at evening, clouds lend a charm to every landscape, a diversity to every season and a lesson to every thoughtful mind. No earthly scene could attract us long if deprived of light and shade from the changing clouds, and with our present feelings we should find it hard to be satisfied with heaven itself if it be one unvaried, cloudless noon. ~Daniel March, “The Balancings of the Clouds,” Our Father’s House, or the Unwritten Word, 1869
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!
When at home alone I sit
And am very tired of it,
I have just to shut my eyes
To go sailing through the skies
To go sailing far away
To the pleasant Land of Play;
To the fairy land afar
Where the Little People are;
Where the clover-tops are trees,
And the rain-pools are the seas,
And the leaves, like little ships,
Sail about on tiny trips;
And above the Daisy tree
Through the grasses,
High o’erhead the Bumble Bee
Hums and passes.
~ Robert Louis Stevenson
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
“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.”
It was on a bike ride Rudolph Tegner found the perfect place for his sculptures:
On a trip over fences and bog rose a bare hill in North Zealand.
Swallows flew over the ground, and the larks disappeared into space with jubilant song –
The wind stroked moaning over grass and heather and no man was to see for miles away.
This was the place.
The long hill with the vast view towards Kullen –
Kattegat in the north, and the forests at Esrum and Horneby in the west and south.
There, countless of statues could grow and become one with earth and sky.
Rudolp Tegner
What a beautiful, sunny morning. It makes you happy to be alive, doesn’t it? We can’t let the sun
outshine us! We have to beam, too!
Takayuki Ikkaku
The day was incredible hot and people took the opportunity to take a swim in historic surroundings overlooking Kronborg Castle. A spectacular choice if you ask me 😎
HANNA'S WALK 
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