It was cold, it was windy, and he was tired and hungry after a long walk. I’m talking about one of my neighbours.
Suddenly he was standing in front of a flooded path in the bog and he didn’t want to go a detour to reach home.
I can easily balance on a wooden log, he thought.
Maybe it was the idea of freshly brewed coffee and newly baked buns, which left the doubt off.
It all went well, right up until one of the wooden logs gave in to the weight.
The boot slipped on the greasy surface, and he fell into the bog. He couldn’t reach the bottom with his feet but managed to grab one of the wooden logs and pull himself up on the path.
The stench of the rotten bog water, and the cold weather made him capitulate.
He phoned home. But he had to sit on a thick layer of newspapers all the way.
It’s a funny story, but only because of a happy ending.
Always remember your packed lunch and leave only your footprints behind ❤
Det var koldt, det var blæsende, og han var træt og sulten efter en lang gåtur. Jeg taler om én af mine naboer.
Nu stod han foran en oversvømmet sti i mosen, og han ønskede ikke at tage en omvej for at komme hjem.
Jeg kan nemt balancere på træstammen, tænkte han.
Måske var det ideen om friskbrygget kaffe og nybagte boller, der efterlod enhver tvivl.
Det hele gik godt, indtil én af træstammerne gav efter for vægten.
Støvlen gled på den fedtede overflade, og han faldt i mosen.
Han kunne ikke nå bunden med fødderne, men formåede at gribe fat i én af træstammerne og trække sig op på stien.
Stanken af det rådne mosevand, og kulden fik ham til at kapitulere.
Han ringede hjem. Men han var nødt til at sidde på et tykt lag aviser hele vejen.
Det er en sjov historie, men kun fordi det gik godt.
God tur, husk endelig madpakken og efterlad kun dine fodspor ❤
The temperature varied considerably depending on whether I was in the wood or out on the sunny meadow.
Steep slopes, small springs, pastures, hilly trails and a wooden pier for ‘happy swimmers’.
It was bitterly cold in the woods by the springs, and the lake didn’t tempt with a swim but I did have a great walk.
The place where you lose the trail is not necessarily the place where it ends.
Tom Brown, Jr.
We were late. Was it possible to complete the walk around the lake before nightfall?
We can turn around if necessary, I said. Thus encouraged, we started the walk that’s cherished by so many people. Whether it’s because of the wren that jumps around in the undergrowth, the sheep on the meadow, the soft call of the bullfinch, hovering buzzards, squealing ducks or the blue flash of the kingfisher, I do not know.
But one thing is certain, people love the area and so do I.
The eastern light our spires touch at morning,
The light that slants upon our western doors at evening,
The twilight over stagnant pools at batflight,
Moon light and star light, owl and moth light,
Glow-worm glowlight on a grassblade.
O Light Invisible, we worship Thee!
Keep your faith in beautiful things;
in the sun when it is hidden,
in the Spring when it is gone.
Roy R. Gibson
Drifting clouds cast shadows on fields; lakes; trees and the path in front of me.
Nature becomes alive and everything changes. This is enchanting.
I hear fledglings everywhere, fragrant Mirabelle spread their delicate fragrance for the capture of bumblebees and other flying creatures to insure the next generation and supply pollen with legs and wings.
When have you last sought shelter from the rain under a tree in the forest?
Standing there when raindrops are falling on withered leaves and the scent of rain fills and enriches the air you breathe.
I did that a few days ago when the sun and rain in turn were stars on a beautiful March day.
“I remember a hundred lovely lakes, and recall the fragrant breath of pine and fir and cedar and poplar trees. The trail has strung upon it, as upon a thread of silk, opalescent dawns and saffron sunsets. It has given me blessed release from care and worry and the troubled thinking of our modern day. It has been a return to the primitive and the peaceful. Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and benumbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me – I am happy.”
By Hamlin Garland, McClure’s, February 1899