Chant du monde boréal
Sandshifter, 60N.
Where it all makes sense.



Through Chronicles from Arcania, I shall attempt to share walks with you, this poetics from 60N, where I feel at one with our Earth, my sense of place so maritime.

Saturday, 9 April 2011

with or without Lady Mist

at one with the world

Have you heard of the arrow of time? It belongs to laws of physics and dictates us a one way ticket in the world. When I reflect on yesterday (the past) I know I cannot find myself sipping that same cup tea on the patio, listening to that beautiful earthsong in some unashamed sun... Divine moment of serenity, as birdsong filled my northern sky: sparrows, starlings, skylarks, meadow pipits... Curlews, oystercatchers (my dear shalders!) ... What else, oh, yes, greylag geese and golden plovers enchanted the afternoon (though breezy) sky, as if inside a gigantic auditorium! Sunsets keep retreating on the clock of time. So we retired to the hearth. But then, as dusk began to glow, a snipe drummed above a nearby field and a hedgehog wandered freely in our garden. First for the season! Happy moment I have to treasure as a memory. This belongs to the arrow of time.

Today, the island feels different.

Eerie, serene though mysterious, as mist clads sea and hills. Birdsong even sound different. It does not fight against the wind, but plays hide and seek with sea fog. If you lived on the edge of Norway, or in Faeroe - come on, let's push it to Iceland - those  sea-, sky- and landscapes will appear familiar to you. But then again, when sea fog strikes on the planet, no matter where  one stands... Along the stretch of the American, African continent, Asia, Antarctica or Australia, ships wrecks are found stranded in sand... rocks or ice. 
There, on my rock, where spring birds return to fare chicks, or rest a bit for further northern realms, I feel the power of seafog, which I once called so affectionately Lady Mist in a poem. 

Everything changes all the time.

We just cannot run away from the arrow of time. 
It flies like water in a stream, as it filters emotions through moments.   What makes it magical is our technical skills to immortalize on silver paper or a chip!  There, the water stops forever on my picture; the light shines at its surface, whatever the colour of my sky as I am typing.  And yet, in our natural world, water still flows, seafog comes and goes as it pleases!  Only our sun can set alight  the petticoat from Lady Mist!

So let me share with you two more images from the island, with or without Lady Mist, as I wandered through the second week of April.
There, at my feet, lesser celandine re-emerges, as delicate as a skylark's song; meadow pipits court and parachute in the sky... The air is crisp, as the wind gusts across the land.
As we progress through the season,  the island intensifies in colours, and soon this painter's palette will shine and dazzle both locals and visitors' eyes and hearts!

For I never take for granted why I live and breathe on this island, whatever colour of the sky and the ocean. My joy to share it with the rest of the world remains intact in the face of the arrow of time. 

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