Austmarka | minus 5 degrees | extra sunny
sunday morning – slept well
reading Karl Ove Knausgaard till late
perfecting the art of making toast in the oven
raspberry jam, tart against the crunchy toast
it’s extra sunny outside and deep in frost
there’s the weather and there’s food
to think about
there are snatched conversations to be had
and there are thoughts and ideas to develop
look at the map
there are 4 or 5 ways
out of the village
follow the path on the map
up to the forest
blue daubs mark
well-kept pathways
past the village hall – I’m guessing
up to the pine forest behind
immediatley
there are dapples of sunlight
illuminating hillocky ground
between the trees
amongst the moss
that Paula loved,
I take out some props
and take some photos
the forest is warmer
my hands aren’t frozen
each twig and blade of grass
has a powdered coating
where the sun has not reached
all is covered in icing sugar
an imagined place
Up the steep hillside
guided by blue blobs
trampling stuff underfoot
there are rivulets of ice
slippery trecherous
keep checking the map
reach the road and over
down the other side
everything’s white
sky bright bright blue
no-one’s about
unsettled by silence
lack of life around
fierce dogs start barking
– are there wolves
will I be eaten alive ?
alternate between edginess and
desire to capture
just one more view
check the map – it’s further
than I thought
the placid lake I’m looking for
suddenly to the left, it’s there
all iced over – I nearly miss it
it’s slippery and boggy
what if I fall or slip…
it’s all very
…. Ansel Adams
what’s there to say
about a pine forest ?
is there soemthign here for me ?
this as a subject, a concept ?
all this nature – the sublime
beauty
I like it’s indifference
my feeling a speck
but what am I doing ?
I’m full of wonder at it all
but what ……
the time passes
I seem to fill it
ideas are forming
everything seems black and white
(apart form cerulean skies)
so that’s one way to go
there are vertical lines in the birch trees
and dark bubbling brooks
now the moon is huge and milky
I carry on thinking…
can’t face my 3 day soup again
perhaps I’ll make spaghetti
this bird has flown ... 