A year ago, I published the first of a little series over at the Kage Collective, made during my first visit to the area that Flemming calls home (where his father still lives). He’s lived outside of northern Jutland longer than he’s lived in it, but still identifies strongly with the place. He belongs to the land of his birth as much as I don’t belong to mine.
A year on, we’re back in northern Jutland again. I’m reminded of the nostalgia, so here’s that post in full.
The point of departure is so often a severance. The breaking of ties, a rejection of all that is past.
The stillness of old spaces. Ancient burial grounds, awaiting resurrection; the spirits that burst forth in seething, vital turmoil.
At the borders of origin, can we deny that what we are, owes its place, to what was?
Can we enter the foggy ground of what we were, without destroying what we are?
Can we ever truly return?