Honung / Honey

Sometimes it is easy. Sometimes all the questions evaporate. Sometimes there is only beauty. And with it comes timelessness. Placelessness. With it I disappear myself.

It happened three times today. That should tell me something. And it does. That is why these words are here.

I walked through the woods in a dark mood, dragging my thoughts along as an extra shadow. I heard the sound of wood breaking violently. Swift movements. Something that sounded like a long sigh. And just an armstretch away a huge stag made his way across the woods. For a moment he stood still and looked at me.

We walked, we drove, we reached the Baltic Sea. The sea ..... what more is there to say? The bluest blue, the straightest line. The soft movement. The sound of the waves. The smell of salt. And then. The sound of swan wings. 

At home. In my room. Freshly showered. Penne arabiata. Hot. Gleaming. Red wine. I open a download from a friend. John Cage, Four Walls. I hear the first of “Six Melodies”.

The smell of honey.