This Monday's theme is Beauty. given by Diane at On the Border. Last Wednesday I wrote of the opposite, because that was what met my eyes going to town. Today my eyes still long for architectural beauty, and this is mirrored in my poem.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder?
I must admit, as I get older,
Find beauty in the simple thing
A drop of dew, a golden ring
But also in a house - it's true -
Where doors and windows, chimney too
Yes even handles, bricks and stone
Sit in the place where they alone
Give pleasure to the watching eye.
And I must say that glass and steel
And concrete grey just make me feel
A bit more grey and cold inside.
My words not heard, at least I tried.
Next Monday's theme is Paper, courtesy of Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey.
Blogger putter stadig tilfældige kommentarer i spamfængsel. Jeg lover at slippe dem ud hurtigst muligt.
Blogger is still randomly putting comments in spam-jail. I promise to free them as fast as possible.
mandag den 30. september 2019
onsdag den 25. september 2019
Words for Wednesday -- 25 September
For the last time the Words for Wednesday are given to us by Delores of Mumblings. This is the end of her blogging presence. I sure hope her blog will stay online. She has given us a lot to think over ...
The Oneness of the UniverseWhenever I get inspired, I'll put up my contribution.
and/or
Gravity
or a selection of words
bland
crunch
toothache
milk duds
romance
atmosphere
Poetry Monday Preview and Rant :: Hæslinge -- Uglyville
The coming Monday's theme is Beauty. Today I go with the opposite, because that is what's happening to my surroundings right now.
First comes a rant -- only in Danish -- and then poems and photos -- bilingual -- of how "my" town has been uglified. Not the town where I live, but where I mostly go shopping. They just opened a new supermarket in an old one's left over buildings. But of course not withot first making the building look more like the rest of the town.
Da Uglemor, Skribenten og de dengang kun to Ugelunger flyttede på landet, var den nærmeste "storby" Helsinge, en glad lille by. Der var mange forskellige butikker, små og større supermarkeder, hobbybutikker, genbrug og specialbutikker. Byen var charmerende i sin grimhed, ikke uden grund omtales den kærligt som Hæslinge af indbyggere og omegnens folk.
Helsinge er stadig den nærmeste by, men den er ikke charmerende længere. Der begyndte i 2009 med VP-arkaden og omegn - nej I skal ikke forestille jer noget med glastage, og flotte udsmykninger som i udlandet, Det er mere prosaisk, stål, plast og beton. Men i begyndelsen var væggene beklædt med trælister og beton-dimserne malet i alle regnbuens farver. Men som sagt i 2009 blev træet pillet ned, erstattet med gråt stål og regnbuefarverne blev overmalet med lys koksgråt.
Det var vist også på det tidspunkt, at Regnbuen, Helsinges vartegn og butikkernes kendemærke blev savet i stykker og kørt på lossepladsen.
Så blev den gule Kvicklybygning først hvid og senere mørk koksgrå.
Flere af butikkerne i byen blev efterhånden ramt af denne smitsomme lidelse.
I går var Uglemor inde i Helsinge igen. Der åbner snart en ny, større Netto i den gamle Irma. Selv om Uglemor stadig savner Irma, er hun glad for en ny Netto lige ved stationen. Men behøver den nu også at blive malet mørkegrå?
I 2009 skrev jeg et protestdigt mod forgrimmelse og gråmaling af Helsinge. Det synes ikke at have hjulpet der fjerneste. Det blev endda bragt i Ugeposten, vores lokalavis, omendskønt i en meget forvirrende opsætning.
I vil male byen grå,
grå og trist at kigge på.
Glas og stål af gråt indrammes,
fest og sjov og farver lammes.
Frygter I ej handelen rammes
når I maler byen grå?
In 2009 I wrote a poem against uglifying and grey painting of "my" town, Helsinge -- known as Hæslinge, which means Uglyville. It did not help one little bit.
Our town is grey and dark
Left of colours - not a spark
Don't you fear for the recession,
Getting caught up in depression
People leaving from oppression,
When you paint our town so grey?
Billeder siger ofte mere end ord, så her er Irma vinteren 2011
This picture is the old Supermarket, Winter 2011
Ny Netto september 2019:
And the new one, September 2019.
First comes a rant -- only in Danish -- and then poems and photos -- bilingual -- of how "my" town has been uglified. Not the town where I live, but where I mostly go shopping. They just opened a new supermarket in an old one's left over buildings. But of course not withot first making the building look more like the rest of the town.
-- ⚉ --
Da Uglemor, Skribenten og de dengang kun to Ugelunger flyttede på landet, var den nærmeste "storby" Helsinge, en glad lille by. Der var mange forskellige butikker, små og større supermarkeder, hobbybutikker, genbrug og specialbutikker. Byen var charmerende i sin grimhed, ikke uden grund omtales den kærligt som Hæslinge af indbyggere og omegnens folk.
Helsinge er stadig den nærmeste by, men den er ikke charmerende længere. Der begyndte i 2009 med VP-arkaden og omegn - nej I skal ikke forestille jer noget med glastage, og flotte udsmykninger som i udlandet, Det er mere prosaisk, stål, plast og beton. Men i begyndelsen var væggene beklædt med trælister og beton-dimserne malet i alle regnbuens farver. Men som sagt i 2009 blev træet pillet ned, erstattet med gråt stål og regnbuefarverne blev overmalet med lys koksgråt.
Det var vist også på det tidspunkt, at Regnbuen, Helsinges vartegn og butikkernes kendemærke blev savet i stykker og kørt på lossepladsen.
Så blev den gule Kvicklybygning først hvid og senere mørk koksgrå.
Flere af butikkerne i byen blev efterhånden ramt af denne smitsomme lidelse.
I går var Uglemor inde i Helsinge igen. Der åbner snart en ny, større Netto i den gamle Irma. Selv om Uglemor stadig savner Irma, er hun glad for en ny Netto lige ved stationen. Men behøver den nu også at blive malet mørkegrå?
-- ⚉ --
I 2009 skrev jeg et protestdigt mod forgrimmelse og gråmaling af Helsinge. Det synes ikke at have hjulpet der fjerneste. Det blev endda bragt i Ugeposten, vores lokalavis, omendskønt i en meget forvirrende opsætning.
I vil male byen grå,
grå og trist at kigge på.
Glas og stål af gråt indrammes,
fest og sjov og farver lammes.
Frygter I ej handelen rammes
når I maler byen grå?
-- ⚉ --
In 2009 I wrote a poem against uglifying and grey painting of "my" town, Helsinge -- known as Hæslinge, which means Uglyville. It did not help one little bit.
Our town is grey and dark
Left of colours - not a spark
Don't you fear for the recession,
Getting caught up in depression
People leaving from oppression,
When you paint our town so grey?
-- ⚉ --
Billeder siger ofte mere end ord, så her er Irma vinteren 2011
This picture is the old Supermarket, Winter 2011
Ny Netto september 2019:
And the new one, September 2019.
mandag den 23. september 2019
Poetry Monday :: My Favourite Drink
Quite a long poem to tell of my favourite drink.
The theme this Monday is given by Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey.
When first we found the house of dream,
The Owlery where we live all.
It was a cloudy day with rain.
I went there with two Owlets small.
When we had looked at house and garden
At yellow house among green grass,
I told my daughter "Beg your pardon.
There one test yet the house must pass."
We went all through the village looking,
but nowhere answers could be found.
Nobody was at home and cooking.
In the end we reached sacred ground.
The little village had a church
around the church were graves and tombs.
And in this place we went to search
the place for watering cans and brooms.
And there we found a water tap.
We let the water run a spell
while quick I folded from a scrap
of paper a cup for our thirst to quell.
The water tasted sweet and good.
And now we both knew that we stood
where we would live. Hear what I say
Fresh water's my favourite any day.
And the theme for next Monday is Beauty. Courtesy of Diane.
The theme this Monday is given by Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey.
When first we found the house of dream,
The Owlery where we live all.
It was a cloudy day with rain.
I went there with two Owlets small.
When we had looked at house and garden
At yellow house among green grass,
I told my daughter "Beg your pardon.
There one test yet the house must pass."
We went all through the village looking,
but nowhere answers could be found.
Nobody was at home and cooking.
In the end we reached sacred ground.
The little village had a church
around the church were graves and tombs.
And in this place we went to search
the place for watering cans and brooms.
And there we found a water tap.
We let the water run a spell
while quick I folded from a scrap
of paper a cup for our thirst to quell.
The water tasted sweet and good.
And now we both knew that we stood
where we would live. Hear what I say
Fresh water's my favourite any day.
And the theme for next Monday is Beauty. Courtesy of Diane.
fredag den 20. september 2019
onsdag den 18. september 2019
Words for Wednesday 18 september -- No Story
Today Dolores of Mumblings have given us three sets of four words. I have still a problem with her prompts, as she is closing down her blog due to a troll. Also Susan and her Unicorn Farm seems to have come to a standstill, but she still fills up my brain, so what is one poor MotherOwl to do?
At least I can bring the words for others to see. If a story or two shows up they will have a post of their own.
kindness
handicapped
blessings
fight or flight
and/or
gruff
spike
hurry
include
and/or
blind
chance
fright
frigid
At least I can bring the words for others to see. If a story or two shows up they will have a post of their own.
kindnesshandicapped
blessings
fight or flight
and/or
gruff
spike
hurry
include
and/or
blind
chance
fright
frigid
mandag den 16. september 2019
Poetry Monday :: A Funny Joke
Dear Diane, A funny joke poem ... I can't do this.
I have been writing all my life,
I wrote of happiness and strife.
I have been writing for so long,
Sad stories, epic tales and songs.
I wrote of gardens, wind an weather.
I even wrote of golden feathers.
Most of my funny jokes ar puns,
Alas in English, they're not fun(s).
And jokes are not the stuff of rhyme.
I'll have to pass on rhyme this time.
I have been writing all my life,
I wrote of happiness and strife.
I have been writing for so long,
Sad stories, epic tales and songs.
I wrote of gardens, wind an weather.
I even wrote of golden feathers.
Most of my funny jokes ar puns,
Alas in English, they're not fun(s).
And jokes are not the stuff of rhyme.
I'll have to pass on rhyme this time.
lørdag den 14. september 2019
Eftersommerglæder - Late Summer in the Garden
Uglemor synes, at vi burde indføre flere årstider. Det er jo ikke rigtig efterår endnu. Lad os indføre forsommer og eftersommer, sådan at der hedder:
This time of year MotherOwl always thinks that it is not Fall yet. We need more seasons. In Danish we have some old names, like English has Fall and Autumn.
I suggest six seasons:
- Vinter: Det er klodt, mørkt og måske sne.
- Forår: det er stadig koldt men der er vintergækker og andre forårstegn.
- Forsommer: Nu kan man komme i jorden, vi kan så, men ikke sidde ude om aftenen endnu.
- Sommer: Man kan gå i vandet og sidde ude længe, der er jordbær og hindbær i haven. Der skal luges og vandes. Varmt og ferie.
- Eftersommer: Høsttid. Korn, bær, nødder og frugter modner. Himmelen er stadig høj og blå. Det er rart at være ude stadigvæk.
- Efterår: Nu falder bladene af træerne, det stormer, regner og bliver koldt. Vi finder overtøjet frem igen.
-- 📅 --
This time of year MotherOwl always thinks that it is not Fall yet. We need more seasons. In Danish we have some old names, like English has Fall and Autumn.
I suggest six seasons:
- Winter - this one is obvious, cold, dark, sometimes it snows.
- Spring - It gets a bit warmer, spring flowers peep through, birds are returning, but it is still cold outside, it even snows sometimes.
- Early Summer - You begin to sow and plant, but it's still not warm enough to stay outdoors in the evening or for a swin in the sea.
- Summer - Now it's nice outside. It's a time for leisure and fun, we can stay outside all the time if we like.
- Autumn - harvest time, grains, berries, nuts and fruits ripen, It is still nice outside.
- Fall - the leaves are falling from the trees, it is windy and colder. You need to put on more clothes to go out.
-- 🌳 --
Dansk ingefær, smuk og giftig -- Arum in Danish called "Danish ginger" as poisonous as it is pretty.
Jordbærrene blomstrer igen, de når nok ikke at give bær, men det er kønt.
--
Strawberries flowering. A pretty sight, but the berries won't make it before the frost.
Vi har fået en ny halmballe at skyde efter. -- A new bale of straw for target practice.
Rabarberne er snart store nok til flere kager (ja de trænger til at blive luget)
--
The rhubarbs are soon ready to be made into muffins once again (maybe a weeding would be nice)
Skællet stilkporesvamp, spiselig, med kedelig, så vi nøjes med at nyde den med øjnene
--
Dryad's saddle - edible but bland. It's a pleasure to look at though.
Solsikke -- Sunflower
Vores nye stakit er ikke færdigt endnu, men det skyder allerede -- Our new fence. Not finished, but already sprouting.
Røde tallerkensmækkere og vores nye ukrudt, Almindelig hanekro. Sidste år var der en enkelt plante, i år er de alle vejne, og de kradser
--
Red Tropaeolum and Common hemp-nettle, our new weed. Last year we had one, this year they're everywhere, and they're scratchy to the touch.
Flere tallerkensmækkere, nu gule, og morgenfruer -- More Tropaeolum, now yellow, and marigolds.
Dagens høst af tomater og en anden frugt -- The tomato harvest - can you spot the odd one out?
Vores troldhassel har også nødder i år. De er pænt store og smager godt
--
Our corkscrew hazel carries nuts this year, they are fairly big and tasty.
Kan man se dyrene her? Vi har et hvepsebo inde under tagrenden. Det er vi ikke så glade for
--
Can you spot the animals here? We have a wasps' nest inside the house. We're not happy about this.
fredag den 13. september 2019
Words for Wednesday - Defiantly writing
Well no stupid, mean troll is going to stop my writing.
Delores at Mumblings. have given us:
The first day in the Pentecostal mini-holidays, Hilde arrived carrying a humongous load of freshly baked buns. She placed them on a central table, and continued to produce jars of homemade jams and honey from her bags. Even some freshly churned butter had found its way into her bags, swaddled in humid tea towels. An Thora came into the room, the table was laid out for a feast.
Hilde got up and spoke: "I made it all by myself from scratch, and I mean totally from scratch. I milked the cows, picked the berries, harvested the wheat, stole the honey from the bees, and so on. The only store bought thing in the whole lot is probably the yeast."
Thora and the other apprentices looked at her in astonishment.
"You know the old proverb: 'So many ways to say I'm sorry'. This is mine. I realize I have been a pompous ass. I am an only child of two magical parents and they home-schooled me, and taught me everything they knew both about magic and the world. We live far away in the country, and we're used to being self reliant and hard working. But I've been thinking .. a lot ... since the Easter holidays.
That Fire jumping, you all cheered My and Rosa on, but when I had to jump, I felt all your eyes on me, filled with despise, maybe even hatred. It filled me with a feeling, I did not know how to describe. It even made me forget the spell, and for the first time ever, I knew how it must be to not be able to make your homework with ease, not be able to remember the words or somatics.
No one congratulated me after my walk through the Fire, I have never felt so alone and useless in my life. I have been thinking ever since. Maybe it's better to be friends than to be right. Sorry ... friends?"
"Friends!" all the other apprentices agreed.
Together they ate all the delicious buns, discussed the jams and the honey and marveled over how yellow the butter was. Hilde explained how she had done, whenever someone asked, but without bragging or showing off.
"Aren't you afraid of the bees?" Susan asked. "I live in a town, but whenever we go on a pick nick I'm always afraid of the bees."
"I'm dressed in protective gear from top to toe," Hilde explained. "And bees are generally nice insects, not bothering people - except when stealing their honey, or stepping on them by accident. It was probably not even bees you met. Bees are only interested in flowers or honey not in your pick nick, I think it might have been wasps. Thora, can you show us the difference?"
Thora nodded and broke two small pieces of the bun she was eating, swung the wand over one of them: "Alibýfluga!" she said. "This is a bee."
As if to prove her words, it went straight for the honey pot. Everybody laughed.
"Holugeitungur," she said, making the relevant gestures over the other piece of bun. "And this is a wasp. A black and yellow wasp flew from her hand, and with an angry buzzing went for one of the jars of jam. From there it flew to the window, making more than one frightened apprentice shrink from it. Thora went for it with a fly swatter.
"You're right," Susan said. "Wasps, not bees, have been ruining our pick nicks. I'll never mistake one for the other again."
The lesson developed into a general telling of tales abut insects, animals and other crazy or not so crazy happenings in town and on farm. Everybody had a good time, and Thora watched with secret appreciation how the green team grew to accept Hilde as a member and not as a stranger.
Delores at Mumblings. have given us:
The season that speaks to your heart
And/or
So many ways to say 'I'm sorry'
Once again I'm traveling back in time. As I told, Susan lived in a coastal town and the Unicorn Farm was on an island situated almost two hours by car away from Susan's home town. At least with the stops required by us children :)The Easter Fire had several repercussions on the Farm and in the magical households. Here's a story of one of them.The first day in the Pentecostal mini-holidays, Hilde arrived carrying a humongous load of freshly baked buns. She placed them on a central table, and continued to produce jars of homemade jams and honey from her bags. Even some freshly churned butter had found its way into her bags, swaddled in humid tea towels. An Thora came into the room, the table was laid out for a feast.
Hilde got up and spoke: "I made it all by myself from scratch, and I mean totally from scratch. I milked the cows, picked the berries, harvested the wheat, stole the honey from the bees, and so on. The only store bought thing in the whole lot is probably the yeast."
Thora and the other apprentices looked at her in astonishment.
"You know the old proverb: 'So many ways to say I'm sorry'. This is mine. I realize I have been a pompous ass. I am an only child of two magical parents and they home-schooled me, and taught me everything they knew both about magic and the world. We live far away in the country, and we're used to being self reliant and hard working. But I've been thinking .. a lot ... since the Easter holidays.
That Fire jumping, you all cheered My and Rosa on, but when I had to jump, I felt all your eyes on me, filled with despise, maybe even hatred. It filled me with a feeling, I did not know how to describe. It even made me forget the spell, and for the first time ever, I knew how it must be to not be able to make your homework with ease, not be able to remember the words or somatics.
No one congratulated me after my walk through the Fire, I have never felt so alone and useless in my life. I have been thinking ever since. Maybe it's better to be friends than to be right. Sorry ... friends?"
"Friends!" all the other apprentices agreed.
Together they ate all the delicious buns, discussed the jams and the honey and marveled over how yellow the butter was. Hilde explained how she had done, whenever someone asked, but without bragging or showing off.
"Aren't you afraid of the bees?" Susan asked. "I live in a town, but whenever we go on a pick nick I'm always afraid of the bees."
"I'm dressed in protective gear from top to toe," Hilde explained. "And bees are generally nice insects, not bothering people - except when stealing their honey, or stepping on them by accident. It was probably not even bees you met. Bees are only interested in flowers or honey not in your pick nick, I think it might have been wasps. Thora, can you show us the difference?"
Thora nodded and broke two small pieces of the bun she was eating, swung the wand over one of them: "Alibýfluga!" she said. "This is a bee."
As if to prove her words, it went straight for the honey pot. Everybody laughed.
"Holugeitungur," she said, making the relevant gestures over the other piece of bun. "And this is a wasp. A black and yellow wasp flew from her hand, and with an angry buzzing went for one of the jars of jam. From there it flew to the window, making more than one frightened apprentice shrink from it. Thora went for it with a fly swatter.
"You're right," Susan said. "Wasps, not bees, have been ruining our pick nicks. I'll never mistake one for the other again."
The lesson developed into a general telling of tales abut insects, animals and other crazy or not so crazy happenings in town and on farm. Everybody had a good time, and Thora watched with secret appreciation how the green team grew to accept Hilde as a member and not as a stranger.
onsdag den 11. september 2019
Words for Wednesday - No words
In September the words for Wednesday are given to us by Delores at Mumblings. These 4 posts, already auto-posted, will be her last ever, as a troll has made her withdraw totally and definitely from the digital world. I for one don't know if I am more sorry to see her go or angry at said troll.
I still seem to suffer from some sort of "delayed writers' block". The words and photos speak to me only after weeks of fermenting.
As I don't think that my shortcomings should prevent anybody from participating I repeat the words here for all to see:
THE SEASON THAT SPEAKS TO YOUR HEART
and/or
SO MANY WAYS TO SAY 'I'M SORRY'
Maybe you could say that I used the first sentence in this chapter of Unicorm Farm. At least I think so.
mandag den 9. september 2019
Poetry Monday :: Bodies of Water
Brought to us by Diane of On the Alberta/Montana Border, Jenny this time provide us with Bodies of Water
This time I delve deeply into my childhood memories, from a time when life was unpleasant at home and at school.
Nature was my place to go, and long bike rides, hikes through my woods and day dreaming and deer watching at my favourite lake, quieted the buzz in my head, and I felt once more alive and at peace with the world.
The Lake
Here on the shore I sit and watch.
The deer are munching in the grass.
The dragonflies in dancing swings,
Tell me of life's most simple things.
The duckweed shines, like silver bright
A deer jumps off, its tail flash white.
A red kite hovers in the sky.
And mice and crickets chirp and cry.
A fish leaps up, concentric rings
Spreads outward like a wave that sings.
I lean back 'gainst the mossy tree,
One with the life that's around me.
Then suddenly the squeaks and thrill
grow quiet and all motion still.
I feel as though the veil is torn.
I glimpse the Truth, and hope is born.
I think the thing, I experienced by that lake - and a few other times in my life since then - is the same that L.M. Montgomery calls The Flash. A feeling of the time, world and space being transparent to a degree where only a thin veil hides the big truth about life, the universe and everything.
This time I delve deeply into my childhood memories, from a time when life was unpleasant at home and at school.
Nature was my place to go, and long bike rides, hikes through my woods and day dreaming and deer watching at my favourite lake, quieted the buzz in my head, and I felt once more alive and at peace with the world.
The Lake
Here on the shore I sit and watch.
The deer are munching in the grass.
The dragonflies in dancing swings,
Tell me of life's most simple things.
The duckweed shines, like silver bright
A deer jumps off, its tail flash white.
A red kite hovers in the sky.
And mice and crickets chirp and cry.
A fish leaps up, concentric rings
Spreads outward like a wave that sings.
I lean back 'gainst the mossy tree,
One with the life that's around me.
Then suddenly the squeaks and thrill
grow quiet and all motion still.
I feel as though the veil is torn.
I glimpse the Truth, and hope is born.
I think the thing, I experienced by that lake - and a few other times in my life since then - is the same that L.M. Montgomery calls The Flash. A feeling of the time, world and space being transparent to a degree where only a thin veil hides the big truth about life, the universe and everything.
onsdag den 4. september 2019
Words for Wednesday - September 4 2019
In September the words for Wednesday are given to us by Delores at Mumblings. These 4 posts, already auto-posted, will be her last ever, as a troll has made her withdraw totally and definitely from the digital world. I for one don't know if I am more sorry to see her go or angry at said troll.
I still seem to suffer from some sort of "delayed writers' block". The words and photos speak to me only after weeks of fermenting.
As I don't think that my shortcomings should prevent anybody from participating I repeat the words here for all to see:
caps
fishing
storm clouds
willow
racing
ripples
and/or
blasted
scurrying
basket
intense
success
model T
I still seem to suffer from some sort of "delayed writers' block". The words and photos speak to me only after weeks of fermenting.
As I don't think that my shortcomings should prevent anybody from participating I repeat the words here for all to see:
caps
storm clouds
willow
racing
ripples
and/or
blasted
scurrying
basket
intense
success
model T
Words for Wednesday - Unicorn Farm Catch-up
Chapter 29 or Easter Holiday 9
In August the words for Wednesday were given to us by River at Drifting through Life. The words for Wednesday August 21 were:
1. peril
2. coral
3. sure
4. rocky
5. lampshades
6. furious immobility
And a photo of this path, River once walked.
These words and the photo brought me back to the Unicorn Farm.
This chapter will not make it into the book, if I ever come to publish it, as Susan cannot know most of what transpires here.
It continues the story from two tracks: both the one from back in March; chapter 28, (wherein Susan an Tue was back in Susan's home, persuading Persephone, the ghost to come back to the magician's cottage with them) and the more recent Easter holiday tale.
Persephone, the ghost from Susan's house, turned out to be an invaluable asset. As soon as she got accustomed to the fact that her best friend, Sandra - the mother of Tue, Heidi and Lis - was now a grown up lady with children of her own, she moved in at the Magician's cottage
When Susan met her in the Easter holidays she was amazed at her growth. Of course her outward form was the same as ever, but her mind, spirit or what ever you may call it had developed beyond that of a small, petulant girl. She had started visiting other houses, and after watching the twins' antics she found that she was great at teleporting. Being immaterial she had no problem with ending up inside tings. Only large mountains or wast masses of water made her dizzy and sent her back. She could also turn totally invisible at will, and if she took care not to touch anybody, she could stay unnoticed even in a room filed with people. She was sent spying on Torben now and then, and came back with disturbing reports of him and his Dutch friend's plannings.
One night Susan, Heidi, Tue and Lis were very late in getting home, They had explored the bed of Susan's rivulet, all the way from the Unicorn Farm to where it tumbled over the cliffs down to the beach below. It was only a trickle now, the winter's snow only a memory in the mild Easter winds, and in a month or so the stream would totally disappear, only to be revived during very violent summer thunderstorms and downpours.
Then they followed the rocky path along the cliff all the way to where it reached its highest point, marked by a small cairn. They then had to backtrack to get to he path leading to the Magician's Cottage.
Heidi and Tue even advocated continuing all the way to the bridge connecting their isle with the mainland, but Lis shot down the notion, stating that the only shop there open outside of the tourist season would surely be closed by the time they got there.
The children had expected a sounding off for being late for dinner, but nothing happened. Sandra served the dinner and Kai did the dishes afterwards as usual, but both of them seemed to be absent-minded Sandra put a load of broccoli on Heidi's plate, and when she complained, that she did indeed still not eat his vegetable, Sandra just scooped them back in the bowl without a word. Kai almost dropped at least four plates while cleaning them, and only his extraordinary nimbleness prevented any major catastrophes.
After dinner Sandra brewed a big pot of tea. When the doorbell rang, and Gilvi and Thora was shown to the garden, the children were sent off to bed.
Half an hour later Percy and Sandra sat around the garden table table with Gilvi, Thora, Taathi, Taavi, Jon and Birgitta. Lis and Tue were in their room, while Susan was bedded in Heidi's room. None of them slept.
All their tries at pleading, sneaking or listening in, had only resulted in Kai, the Magician-wizard and father of Tue, Heidi and Lis keeping guard in furious immobility on the landing outside their bedrooms.
The evening wore on. Luckily Percy was a ghost, and did not get tired from the questioning from all the professors and Sandra. One by one the professors fell silent, all questions asked. The night fell and the small band of humans and a ghost went inside.
"We're in dire peril," Sandra said as they gathered in the living room. "When, or dare I say if, Tristan is rolling out his plan, all of Denmark, Iceland, the Faeroe islands and possibly the rest of the Scandinavian countries will be under his inclement rule." In the beginning he will seem to be the benevolent dictator, but then, in steadily mounting degrees, people will begin to suffer. Not the magical community, but everybody else will be enslaved, persecuted, maybe killed in this crazy plan of his. And they wont' realize until it's too late, far too late."
"Are you sure?" Birgitta asked.
"Yes I'm sure." Sandra answered. "He'll write his propaganda flyers on highly suggestive paper, place billboards everywhere, likewise prepared. And his election will be certain.
Sandra reached up, into the coral lampshade. "Is this what I think it is?" she asked very quietly. Gilvi looked at the small black thing in her hand and nodded. Birgitta stretched out her hand, and Sandra dropped the microphone into it. Birgitta drew her wand, cast an intricate spell over it, and a smallish 3D Picture of Torben rose from it. "Him!" Sandra whispered, going pale. She gestured with her wand and it wrote in the air: "Pretend you do not believe what I said about Tristan!"
"Oy Sandra," Birgitta said, "I do not think you're right. Tristan is not a bad sort of guy. A bit brash, maybe, but you're making him out to be the very devil"
Taavi said: "He's a wizard, just like us. He might be more harsh, more determined. But maybe it is just what we need."
"I see, you do not believe me, Sandra said with a sigh. "let's stop this futile discussion and find our beds. It is late."
As Sandra saw her guests out, she once again had her wand write in the air. "We will have to go underground. You may or may not wish to follow, but we're a family, we're harder to protect."
mandag den 2. september 2019
Poetry Monday :: Summer Fun
Every Monday is Poetry Monday. If you want to join, the weekly themes are always at Diane's place: On the Alberta/Montana Border where she, Delores of Mumblings and Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey have been taking turns coming up with interesting themes for all to write about.
To the distress of this old Owl, Delores of Mumblings has left Blogland because of a mean, stupid troll.
This Monday my poem is of a depressing variety. Each year, when Summer is almost over, and Autumn holidays are almost upon us, I get this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Our Summer fun
is over and done
Now Autumn storms are on their way
I run and hide, I will nor play.
Soon Christmas will is here again
With reindeer, elves and nisse-friend*
For Christmas time will be begun
when I find it's time for Autumn fun. **
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
* Nisse-friends - a custom at shools and workplaces, where you secretly get paired off as "friends".You have to give small gifts, at leat 3 a week so that no-one feels left out. Us poor parent have to provide a suitable number of small, but not too small gifts - for us and all the children - URGH.
** Week 41 will as always, be the official start of the Christmas season in Denmark - Our Autumn holidays are week 42. This means that when I go in search of kites, glue and other autumnal crafting things, I'm met with choco-reindeer and all that jazz.
To the distress of this old Owl, Delores of Mumblings has left Blogland because of a mean, stupid troll.
This Monday my poem is of a depressing variety. Each year, when Summer is almost over, and Autumn holidays are almost upon us, I get this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Our Summer fun
is over and done
Now Autumn storms are on their way
I run and hide, I will nor play.
Soon Christmas will is here again
With reindeer, elves and nisse-friend*
For Christmas time will be begun
when I find it's time for Autumn fun. **
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
* Nisse-friends - a custom at shools and workplaces, where you secretly get paired off as "friends".You have to give small gifts, at leat 3 a week so that no-one feels left out. Us poor parent have to provide a suitable number of small, but not too small gifts - for us and all the children - URGH.
** Week 41 will as always, be the official start of the Christmas season in Denmark - Our Autumn holidays are week 42. This means that when I go in search of kites, glue and other autumnal crafting things, I'm met with choco-reindeer and all that jazz.
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