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.
Weather Change
Lovely sunny weather followed by hail and snow showers. Outstanding spring.
Before We Die
Before us great Death stands
Our fate held close within his quiet hands.
When with proud joy we lift Life’s red wine
To drink deep of the mystic shining cup
And ecstasy through all our being leaps—
Death bows his head and weeps.
by Rainer Maria Rilke
In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.
Abraham Lincoln
Happy Weekend ❤
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Walks, that you don’t want to leave
Happy Earth Day!
I have celebrated Earth Day today along with the Fox, the Red-Necked Grebe, Green Frogs, Grass Snakes, Swans and Geese, Bumblebees, Highland Cattle, Sheep and Lambs and a Red Kite.
The forests around Buresø are among the most beautiful scenery I know of in North Seeland.
The Deer Park
This is ten days ago now. The pictures are from a stroll in Jægersborg Dyrehave.
Since then the trees are beginning to turn green and the Mirabelle trees are blossoming with white flowers. Enjoy it while you can because this weekend the frost comes back with sleet and snow.
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The Highest Peak in North Sealand
We take a stroll in Rude Skov and set the course towards Maglebjerg which is the highest peak in North Sealand.
The leaves are still missing on the trees and the look between the branches are spectacular.
Maglebjerg is 91 meter above sea level and a popular route for mountain bikers.
Just before the ascent, we see a woman let herself fall off the bike and then lies with her head down in the withered leaves.
It turns out that it’s the preliminary exercise for extending the hip flexor, but it looked like an accident at first sight
On our way down from the hill we pass an old churchyard and a chapel. Under the gravestones rest mentally disabled children, many of them died very young.
The patients lived under miserable conditions. They were heavily medicated and during stimulated. Many of the patients were also misplaced.
In the middle of 70’erene criticism began to emerge, resulting in a gradual abandonment of the original institution. In 1999, the vacated old buildings were sold.
We meet a group of children from a kindergarten. There is no yelling or screaming but cozy talk about nature.
A boy is walking in the steep hillside. From his backpack clothes are hanging in a couple of plastic bags. Perhaps a wet sock or two 🙂
He moves conscious between roots, fallen branches and depressions in the forest floor. It’s a wonderful sight because the seeds for outdoor activities and pleasures of nature are laid here.
Two small girls are forming the rear guard under aware monitoring from one of the pedagogues. They have stones in their pockets and take turns to show the most peculiar or finest stone of them all. The girls have fun, play around and dance.
It’s well-being at its best.
danskebjerge om Maglebjerg
danskebjerge om København og omegn
The Sorting Hat
Have you doubt about your shoes? Put on your walking boots and go for a lovely walk in the spring ❤
Where strangers greet each other
This is a place where people greet each other when they meet. I think it is an expression of big nature. People become humble and remember where they come from. That’s the effect this forest has on me.
“We walked always in beauty, it seemed to me. We walked and looked about, or stood and looked. Sometimes, less often, we would sit down. We did not often speak. The place spoke for us and was a kind of speech. We spoke to each other in the things we saw.”
Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow
When the gold is on the willow
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier,
Not hoary hair or heavy care can still my wild desire
To race across the uplands, over Memory’s tender turf,
And dive out of my sorrows in the dogwood’s bloomy surf.
O blue were violets in our youth, and blue were April skies,
And blue the early song-bird’s wings, but bluer were the eyes
That, in that land of long ago, looked thro’ the window pane,
And saw the tulips nod to us amid the slanting rain,
Where all the dusk was glowing with our ruddy cottage fire,
When the gold was on the willow, and the purple on the brier.
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier,
The ducats of the dandelions have paid old Winter’s hire,
And sent him shuffling northward in garb of tattered snow;
White-tasseled birches after him their balmy odors throw.
Carousing in the bramble brake the brown bees, boozing, sip,
And up the river’s cataracts the shining salmon slip.
The schoolboy’s spirit leaveth him upon the weary seat,
And over loamy furrows leaps, with lightsome heart, to greet
The chipmunk on the mossy wall, the bullfrog in the mire,
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier.
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier,
He whistles the cantata of the blackbird’s noisy choir,
And all the murmurous music of a manumitted stream
Sings soft around his naked feet, where shallow ripples gleam,
As if the loops of crystal wherein the lad doth wade
Had threaded through the lilies of some Paradise arcade,
And little laughing angels had tucked their tunics high,
To plash across its limpid shoals before it left the sky;
And still it lilts the melody of lute, and harp, and lyre,
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier.
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier,
It may be sin to say it, but I fear that I shall tire
Of heaven’s eternal summer, and sometimes I will yearn
To see across the greening swale, a budding maple burn.
My soul can ne’er be satisfied where sweet Spring never hath
Her way along the mountain side or by the meadow path,
Where kingcups never catch the sun, or bluebells mock the sky,
Or trout beneath the foam-wreaths hide, or bass jump at the fly,
And, in some homesick moment, for a furlough I’ll inquire,
When the gold is on the willow, and the purple on the brier.
By Robert Mcintyre
Happy Springtime
The weather changes between sun and showers on my walk. The wind is icy and a powerful burst containing hail almost makes me lose my breath. Then suddenly around a corner, I’m sheltered and the sun breaks through a dark blue-grey sky and nature sparkles and shines in the cold spring.
HANNA'S WALK 
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