A borrowed moment

Day 63 of 100, northern Jutland, Denmark

I can’t seem to tire of this springtime color, no matter how much I look at it.

A multitude of deer, racing cloud shadows in the long green.

I posted the picture at the end of this post, some days ago on Facebook, and a friend commented that it had an old, other world feel to it.

She was dead on.

We were hiding under a stand of trees by the road, waiting for a shower to pass.

I’d known this country in my mind, long before physically arriving. I knew it by the curves of the narrow road, the cut of the wind, and the smell of the rich, dark earth after the rain. All of this wove itself into my skin from the timbre of Flemming‘s voice when he recounts his past, the story that his restless hands trace. Suffused with longing, carved by generations into soil.

A landscape perhaps better suited to a wet collodion kit than what i had: a small slab of glass and metal, which i could barely handle in the wet without dropping.

Despite it all, the picture was still too easily made.


  1. “raouda alouweir oofuaueueueo oooffooooro foauoofof ooieieieioeo, Middlefart, laoooodiid, oodiodid.” This is what it sounds like when he talks. I know. I’ve been there. Anytime I see your images from that region they remind me of the light in the classic painters of the region. Last year in Amsterdam I had about a four minute “experience” with light just after leaving one of the museums. It was like “Oh ya, that’s why the paintings look like they do.” It’s unique, quiet, thin, coldish and vibrantly muted at the same time.

    1. Charlene says:

      Haha! If I haven’t performed the 2-squeaks-1-grunt exchange I once witnessed in a supermarket, I will do so the next time we see you. Love the Danish language!

      The light on this land is divine. I shoot from the same spots every day, and I’m quite convinced that this is some path to nirvana.

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