Never make a decision on an empty stomach

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 Fragrance of a Norwegian Holiday

The fragrance of heather and bog is like an instant journey into the Norwegian mountains.

Summer Sun

“Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy’s inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.”
Summer Sun, by Robert Louis Stevenson