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

Crayola Sky.

Late fall equals perpetual twilight in Scandinavia.
Our days have lost about ten hours since the summer solstice and this can certainly be perceived.

Yet as always, even the darkness brings moments of absolute enchantment.
If the weather conditions are right, over the course of the next couple of months, I will be once again granted the privilege to watch stunning sunrises as I set out on my daily commute.

Below is a selection of crayola skies - alluring works of art painted by an unseen artist upon dawn, as they passed my windows in recent mornings, dispersing momentarily the feel of everlasting dusk.

December Dawn.

We are now in mid December and the presence of the fourth season is unmistakeably obvious. Winter stands almost at our threshold and its reign is already palpable in the icy cold air and the first snowfall.

Our daylight is fragile and subtle, with late sunrises and early sunsets, both fast and elusive. Still, currently I am fortunate enough to watch the golden disk emerge from behind the flat horizon on my way to work.

The first part of my drive takes me through beautiful country side, with small roads cutting through a soft landscape, where at the present the skies lie low and the fields bare. However, on those rare occasions when weather permits, I can spot the vital star emerge from its night slumber.  At times, it enters an almost pristine sky, where it appears large and glowing, majestically floating in the morning haze, before turning into a globe of molten steel, averting my gaze. On other occasions, it is obscured by clouds, its rays pushing through the fractures of vapor, creating stunning sights of almost biblical proportions.

Below is a selection of images taken this December, on my solitary drive during a subtle dawn, when the young sun could be seen just above the horizon, creating an elusive winter sunrise.

(About the images: taken with my trusted Nikon Coolpix, my good old friend always present in my bag for those emergency occasions - however not possessing the precision and capabilities of my beautiful Canon PowerShot G12, which I usually use.
Please click images for a larger view.)

Empty Rooms...

Last Candle Light

Empty rooms...
That is the last image of the white house imprinted in my memory.
Yet, also smiling faces of my new tenants ready to move in.
A deliciously melancholic mix.

Nevertheless, I have now left my former home behind, in the hands of a new family.
But not before I spend one very last weekend there getting it ready for the new occupants.
I was very appropriately alone, as my man was once again out of town through his work and this final stay was exactly as I envisioned it would be; strenuous, endless work mixed with wonderfully bittersweet recollections.

The house parted with me in style - I got to see a magnificent sunrise and a stunning late fall sunset. I watched a large red moon rise in the north and I enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the beautiful westbound views - all for one last time.
Finally, I lit one last candle in the old lantern, the one that once - those eighth years ago - held the first candle light when I moved in...

I got to say my good byes and now it is time for a new wonderful chapter in my life to start, one that I have been waiting for so long - my whole life it seems.
And I am looking forward to share it with all of you.

Sunrise, 12th Of November

Sunset, 12th Of November

Almost Full Moon, 12th Of November

Solitude At Daybreak.

For years, my exercise consisted of a daily morning run on a treadmill located in the basement of my old house. It was easy and it was practical, having my own gym within reach. It also made it harder to have any excuses not to run.

Upon my recent relocation, my old treadmill has been left behind and thus I have adapted a different exercise routine, the one practiced by my new family. A novel concept to me; running outside. Stepping onto a natural ground, finding a rhythm in following the versatile terrain and enjoying (or fighting) the elements.

Thus three times a week, I get up at daybreak and set out on a run through the sleeping neighbourhood, by now on a fairly familiar route, which eventually takes me onto a path around a nearby lake.

I have come to cherish this tranquil time in complete solitude. As I jog along the solitary path, I very rarely meet anyone but the occasional dog walker or elderly couples on their first stroll of the day. As a naturally early riser, I enjoy the stillness of a newborn day, heading outside, inhaling the morning scents and stepping on the dew covered ground. Most of all I love to visit the lake at this hour, when mist still lingers upon its surface and the first sun rays burst from behind the trees.
My morning run has certainly become one of my new found simple pleasures.

(All image in this post are taken with my iPone on a recent run, during a beautiful late August morning.)

Fiery February Dawn.

As the sun slowly moves ever so higher up in the sky, it yet again creates not just stunning sunsets, but equally breath-taking sunrises.

Dawn is by far my favorite part of the day. It holds a certain appeal of the gentle beauty in a newborn morning. A clean slate, fueling the idea that anything magical has the potential to yet happen.

February dawns are the most beautiful ones to be witnessed from my windows - they are not just stunning, but they are also rare. The sun is now rising in close proximity to the cardinal east and an early riser is rewarded by views that have no equal. The young sun sets the velvet violet-blue heavens on fire and creates a few minutes of absolute enchantment, as the stillness of a late night becomes a fiery winter dawn...

(Below a few images taken of a magnificent sunrise as it unraveled in my views one morning this past week.)

Morning Glory.

Due to the company I used to keep, in the past I found myself being a creature of the night, often involuntarily. It did not bother me though and I enjoyed late morning sleep ins; however on regular bases they failed to make me feel refreshed and invigorated.

As much as the stillness of the night can be soothing and tranquil, it seems also to carry a certain feel of distress with it. A sensation of being late, or being behind. As if one is trying to catch up with the world that seems to move a few hours ahead of oneself. Besides, it has been suggested that sleep initiated on the other side of midnight never fully restores the body and mind.

Early morning however carries a different kind of tranquility. The one that instigates a feel of being ahead, being the first one to experience an enchanting moment, way before anyone even knows it is there. The privilege of facing a new day, with all its pristine glory and unblemished beauty, while the rest of the population is still sound asleep, unaware of the natural wonder that is taking place just outside their windows.

As of lately, my body naturally prefers rising early and I have never felt more energetic. This past weekend, as I was up just after the day break, watching a late autumn sunrise, offered views filled with colours and nuances that contrast the ones surrounding our sunsets. Gone is the saturated golden, red and orange. Instead, the air is light and misty, defined by transparent colours; pale yellow, turquoise and baby blue, with a touch of pink, which can turn violet as the winter nears ever so close.

There is a certain magic hidden within the morning glory, which carries with it hope and sense of renewal, as well as promises of fresh beginnings. Anything has the potential to yet occur. It is infused with a sensation of momentarily stillness, almost an anticipation of something grand - it is as if time lingers for an instant, belonging to no one else but me...

Watching the sun rise slowly, as its subtle rays embrace the landscape, melting gently away the frosty blanket while the golden disc barely leaves the horizon, is a source of endless enchantment. To relish in the gentle tranquility of a newborn day, as my house becomes saturated with the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread has become one of my new found simple pleasures.


(Below a selection of recent images, depicting late autumn - early mornings, as viewed from my grand windows; please click the images for a better view)