Scintillating Sky.

Gone are the unrestricted views I once had at my disposition in the white house on the hill. I still recollect fondly the captivating light shows that from spring to autumn played out in front of my windows.

These days, wide planes surround my home and our house is nestled between others, hidden from view, lacking it as well.
However, despite these limitations - and to my surprise - the obstructed horizon can nevertheless offer subtle demonstrations of natural splendor.
Just like the other evening, when twilight enveloped our surroundings and the final rays of the setting sun illuminated the three dimensional clouds.

Camera in hand, I walked around the house, capturing the scintillating spring sky in every cardinal direction, reveling in this early "white night" sneak preview...

Beautiful sights indeed always await those who take the time to notice.

Dawn By iPhotography.

My daily run is slowly becoming a favorite part of my morning.
Not just because I love the exercise, but mostly due to the incredible natural beauty that meets my gaze. Watching a still landscape waking up to a stunning dawn is the most perfect way to start a new day.

I run with my iPhone in the pocket.
Initially, this was to check the time and provided me with a sort of security, as I venture into deserted fields. However, it has become a tool to document the enchanted beauty of panoramic views at sunrise.

Sadly, my little Nikon ceased functioning a couple of months ago, thus until I buy a new pocket camera, my phone seems to be a suitable substitute. Considering the quantum leap that technology has taken just in a few decades, I view every capture I snap with it as a true marvel. Ten years ago no one ever thought that a phone would be substituting point-and-shoot cameras.

My very first camera was made by Kodak and today it would be considered as ancient at the very best, but in 1982 it was a modern gadget. Of course, viewed with today's eyes, the pictures were of limited quality, nevertheless, I was fascinated by its simple process and by the sheer possibility of being able to the capture moments in time.
Unfortunately, when vacationing in the south of Europe one summer, I left it on the rooftop of my parents car at a rest stop. When I realized this some three hours later, I had to accept that it was lost forever.

Since then I have own many cameras - some inexpensive, some of better quality - yet my love for photography only grew.
Almost every day I take pictures of something that entices me, either using my beautiful Canon or my phone. The fact that I can take hundreds of shots and view them instantly will never cease to mesmerize me - anyone can be a photographer these days.
Still, I can at times get slightly sentimental recollecting the anticipation of the old film processing. Taking pictures in the past was just like a box of chocolates - you never knew what you were going to get.

Below: Images of an April dawn taken with my iPhone during my recent run, please click to enlarge.

And here below a sentimental walk down the memory lane - the old add for my first camera.:)

Siberian And Sunny.

Snowdrops

Our first vernal month goes down in history as one of the coldest ever measured. Air streaming directly from Siberia has kept the atmospere frigidly cold and the ground snow covered - but our skies have been unusually sunny for weeks at end, accounting for a seventy year old record.
I have mixed feelings about the cold weather. Indeed it is unbearable when winter is endless, yet I rather have cold, sunny skies, then warm, rainy air.

Nevertheless, a change of seasons is in the process and spring has gotten one foot in. The sun is gaining in strength by each and every day and despite the temperatures hoovering around zero, I decided to bundle up and take a walk in our new neighborhood this past weekend.

We live at the outskirts of the town and thus very quickly I found myself leaving the residential area behind and I begun walking among empty fields. Despite the flat lands, the views came across as absolutely enchanting, my gaze tracing an endless horizon, as the vital sunshine warmed my face. Listening to the singing of the lark, a bird song so significant of these parts, I realized that vernal bloom was covering the surroundings and that unmistakable sense of spring saturated the air. That undefinable yet so tangible perception of awakenings at winters end.

My Walk

My hour long walk inspired me to take up running, something I gave up on last autumn. Thus just before sunrise, every morning this week, I set out onto the frost covered ground, into Siberian conditions, to greet a world that was still asleep. With the moon setting in the west and the imminent sunrise in the east, I ran on a path among barren fields, marveling at the natural beauty.
And as always, nature put my mind to ease...

A lot is occupying my thinking these days, some of the thoughts fill me with anxiety.
Somewhere deep within me there is a sadness gaining hold. The seasonal shift means that summer is getting closer and so is the departure of the man that I love.
Once again, we will be separated for four months and already now this weights heavy on my heart. Having tried it before is actually not making things any easier. Oddly enough, harder. I can only take consolation in my own strength, that one that I found last time around. And in the profound love that we share.

Thus new projects are being planned in my mind, to keep me occupied, the spirits up and the sinister thoughts at bay.
Gardening is on top of the list. 

Forgotten Hyacinths

Our garden is beautiful, but in a simple way and I definitely am not a simple gardener. There is a total lack of vernal bloom - no spring flowers adorn the flowers beds, something I truly miss. And yet, cleaning our greenhouse the other day, I stumbled upon a forgotten pot, left behind by the former owners. It was full of blue hyacinths. The bulbs have survived the winter and were blooming despite the lack of watering - I took it as subtle sign that everything will be well.

I am also planning to undertake a project involving a mural painting. There is a spot above the Provence inspired stove area in our kitchen, in form of a little alcove in the wall. It absolutely screams for a tranquil French still-life. I am indeed excited about the prospect of reviving my old hobby - painting. Right now I am in stages of planning and preparations, in search of suitable paint and motif.

Danish Passport

I have officially become Danish and that leaves me with a sense of a bittersweet finale. A door is closing upon the first half of my adult reality. Yet simultaneously another one is opening wide.
I went to a photographer having a picture taken for my new driving license and passport. I had to gasp when the photographer returned the images to me, as I met the gaze of a middle aged woman. What happened to that young girl that used to smile at me for a decade, every time I opened my old Swedish passport? I guess she is forever gone - but maybe that is not such a bad thing.

Aging used to bother me quiet a bit. It still does and probably always will, yet I have started to slowly surrender myself to time.
Would I like to be twenty again? I am not so sure. Life is short, yet the magic lies in its ephemerality. I have done exactly what I was suppose to do and what I wanted to do. I have no regrets and no need to go back in time.
Ultimately I will happily trade my youth for the privilege of unforgettable experiences and priceless knowledge.

Endless Views Near Our Home

The Same Views At Dawn - The Setting Moon

The Same Views At Dawn - The Rising Sun

Spring Snow.

Crossing the vernal equinox this week, we have officially entered the second season. Winter however seems to think otherwise. The Ice Lady never leaves voluntary and fights to the bitter end to remain in reign in my part of the world.
Her wrath is endless and currently absolutely fierce, making this March one for the record books as the coldest ever meassured.

Nature and animals yearn for spring and so do we. Everywhere I look, there is a pristine blanket of spring snow and the easterly winds blow arctic air over us, keeping the temperatures below freezing.

The only vernal sign is the light. The sun is raising earlier and setting later by each passing day. There is something altered about the daylight as well, as it slowly turns platinum instead of golden.

Despite the final fury of the winter, a point of no return has been reached and that universal feeling of an approaching seasonal shift can clearly be perceived - the best time of the year has already begun.

Baby Birch.

Those of you who have been reading my writing for a while know that I am a nature lover. Most of all, I love trees - birch trees in particularly. There is something almost elf like in their shape and the texture of their alabaster bark.

I have had a special relationship with birch trees in Denmark, it seems.
The westerly panoramas of my white house on the hill were lined by a row of them. Additionally, there was a stunning tree that adorned my easterly view. I was so fascinated by it, that I documented its changes over a course of four seasons. Those images are all that remains as a testimony to its existence, as it was cut down by my neighbors shortly before I moved, much to my great shock and disbelief.
When I moved up north, there was an old birch growing in the front yard of our old, rental home. I loved to watch it shift throughout the year from my favorite spot in the kitchen.

Walking around our new property the other day, I was overjoyed when I found a very young, baby birch next to the greenhouse. It has the most beautiful, paper thin, ivory bark I have ever seen and in the shine of the late winter sun it stood out almost illuminated against the azure blue sky. The slim branches carry already buds, which will turn into catkins in about a month, announcing the arrival of spring.

This time around this birch belongs to us. Its fate is in our hands and it is safe. I find it very exhilarating to know that once again I can watch - and document - the seasonal changes of a stunning tree, completely undisturbed, hopefully for years to come.

Mountain Splendor.

The past two weeks, even though they have flown by, come across in time span rather like two months.
We have been packing, we have been moving, we have been unpacking for days on ends, discarding and purchasing, putting things in place and decorating - until we were simply too exhausted to even breathe.
Then, just when we thought we were done, another kind of packing was set in place.

Before we even got the chance to enjoy our new home, we set out on a sixteen hour drive south, in order to savor the beauty of the majestic mountain range of central Europe, frolicking in sunshine and snow. Our skiing vacation, planned last summer, did not coincide very well with out move - but I guess the best in life is unplanned.

The beauty of the European Alps is breathless and the time we get to spend gazing at the snow covered mountain peaks, priceless.
And yet, once it is time to say our good byes, we will not feel sadness leaving all this splendor behind. Rather we will with joy look forward to return to our brand new home.

All images taken in the Italian Alps, February 2013.

In Ivory.

There is nothing more enchanting than the first snow.
December snow is the most alluring precipitation, creating christmas card like atmosphere, adding to the the spirit of the Holidays.

We have been under a heavy snow blanket for over a week, as the first few snowstorms of the year swept over the country - the latest one last night - leaving us with stunning views of a winter wonderland. Yesterday the weather gods granted us a short break, with clear skies and a fragile sunshine, beckoning us to set out on a short drive through the white landscape.
The soft winter sun momentarily drenched nature in a platinum light, making the snow sparkle and the contrast between the alabaster white fields and the azure blue December sky so very obvious.

The ivory views passing the cars window clearly reinforced the fact that we have stepped into the third season and the reign of Lady Winter has truly commenced.

(All images in this post are taken with my iPhone through the windows of our car.)

November Noir.

Fall is slowly concluding and the fiery glow of the ostentatious season is now only a memory. Instead, the outlines of trees stand naked, dark and ominous against a milky sky, their branches damp and still, resembling almost menacing silhouettes.
The remains of foliage and long gone bloom turns putrefied, instigating a sense of decay.

Late fall melancholy is by now truly apparent. To me it comes across as an intermission, a moment of stillness and tranquility that stands between the flamboyance of colours and the illumination of the Holiday Season.

I have been somewhat absent, in my writing and in my on-line life, for which I apologize. I do still ponder the bigger questions and I do still notice the enchantment around me, I only need more time to convey it in words and pictures to all of you you.
There are continuously issues that occupy my thinking, such as the fact that I find myself increasingly disenchanted with my line of work, a sensation that started a couple of years back and which only grows in intensity by each passing day.
I find this puzzling - that which once defined me and brought me happiness feels now as a burden and has lost its allure all together.

Is it midlife crises, I wonder, or is it I who have changed...
I feel a deep longing to realize old dreams, using my creative abilities, devoting what remains of my working life to an occupation that is novel and better suited the new me.
Curiously, life never works fully on all levels - if it did, I guess we would be done living it.

My reality evolves constantly and for someone who has lived by predictable routines for decades, I find the ongoing growth curiously reassuring. My husband's children are spending increasing amount of time with us, which changes the dynamic of our lives. It is a challenge on all levels, as I am thrown into parenthood of three teenagers, having never hold them in my arms as babies. Trying to be their friend and guardian and yet at the same time guiding them with gentle but firm rules as a stepmother is a balancing act of a novel kind. Yet as I refine my skills, the rewards are of indescribable measures - they are the children I will never have and their love and devotion surpasses all my expectations.

A move to a new house is now slowly becoming reality and soon we will be finally having a home of our very own where we can live as a family, with a sense of privacy and safe continuity. Thus as I look out onto our misty garden, I wonder whether this is the last November noir I am witnessing outside my windows in this old house. So much emotions and changes has undergone between its walls in such a short time. I know I will miss it in a certain way...

Nature is indeed winding down. It is entering a deep sleep, discarding the old and shriveled, renewing itself from within, in order to emerge reborn and revitalized a few months down the road.
This is a contagious rejuvenation, that applies to everything living, us humans too. Most likely when winter turns into spring, my own life will be reborn in a new place.

Late fall is in my perception always defined by one single masterpiece; Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21.
Thus when I look into the mist, I can hear piano and strings of violins, giving the melancholy of November a truly poetic, symbolic and almost meditative feel.

Untamed Waters.

Taking a walk along the pristine beaches in the proximity of my home, I am once again reminded of the incredible power of the North Sea.
Watching the surf, the crushing waves bring to mind the run of wild horses, untamed animals in all their feral beauty.
The arctic wind, the salty aerosol, the incredibly enchanting sights of colours and shapes, the roaring sound - they all are the make up of an awe invoking allure of nature.
Yet walking there, hand in hand with a lover, one can not imagine a warmer and safer place...

(All images here taken this week at the North Sea, during our short, romantic getaway.:) 

Fallen Angels.

Sitting in our kitchen, I watch the birth of a new day, knowing that the pink horizon will very soon burst into a glow of light.

We are way past mid-fall and nature is at its flamboyant best, the turning foliage shinning bright in the light of the first sun rays.
The ultimate showdown in colours is in my part of the world intense and fleeting. Yet every few years the display is simply more vibrant. This autumn thus falls into that category and currently my commute to work is undertaken through painted landscape. The views passing my windows outdo each other in brilliance and parade by in nuances of fire, copper and gold.

I am alone again, facing two weeks of solitude. My husband is in sunny California, refurbishing his skydiving skills as a part of his occupation.
His absence comes across as a doubled-edged sword.

On one hand it is a welcomed intermission from my novel life. That busy, messy, hectic, disorganized and unplanned yet so life-affirming and joyful existence that I have grown to love. Knowing this seclusion is only temporary, I find my alone time highly revitalizing.

With this said though, I dislike to be separated from my husband. I absolutely love to be in his presence and when he is not by my side, my world crumbles. Additionally, as much as his skills and his profession fascinate me and carry a great deal of appeal, attraction and pride in my eyes, they also give rise to a constant concern and worries, causing me to succumb to moments of distress and even occasional panic.
This is an area of my reality I still need to work plenty on, trying to learn to accept that which I can not change, facing the unknown with courage and being the strong woman my man deserves by his side.

Thus trying to pass the time - and actually enjoying to be having enough of it for once - I do what what makes me happy. I again find my solace in nature, photographing the flamboyant fall beauty that surrounds me, while I write down my thoughts and impressions fueled by my solitude. I finally also have the opportunity to compile the multitude of images that I have accumulated over the past months, spending hours cataloging these, creating photo books and calendars, the Christmas gifts that my family - near and extended - love to receive.

Among my many photographs are hundreds of macro images of fuchsias, captured recently in the garden of my father in law. These enchanting plants are his passion and pride, adoring his property in hanging baskets or in pots, creating oases of stunning beauty.

At extreme close up, the dazzling flowers of the plant resemble small, fragile dancing ballerinas, swaying in the air, flaunting their multicoloured, ravishing dresses. The texture of the blossom comes across as almost textile - soft velvet and silk.

While immortalizing these delicate creations of nature, I noticed that some of the blossom has fallen to the ground. Upon closer look, mesmerizing artwork unfolded in my view and my camera lens. The flowers fell randomly, yet their positions felt prearranged, as if an unseen artist walked there before me. Resembling fallen angels, sleeping among autumn leaves and moss, their colours only intensified against the earthy canvas, creating masterpieces of epic proportions.

Just like in life, the most enchanting beauty is hidden from view, only to be discovered if we look deeper, look closer, look from a different angle and look differently.