Julepynt.

”Er der én der kan huske, hvor kassen med julepynt er?”

 Emilie havde ledt i længere tid, men nu gav hun op og spurgte så højt, at alle kunne høre det. Sigurd kiggede undrende på hende:

”Vi er da først lige ved at tage hul på november, hvad skal du med julepynt så tidligt?”

”November er ikke til at holde ud,” svarede Emilie. ”Så kan jeg lige så godt tjekke pynten og se, hvad der mangler. Der skulle ligge nogle farvede ark glanspapir i æsken, og så vil jeg i gang med at reparere kræmmerhuse, og måske lave nogle nye. Det tager jo tid at klippe, flette og lime, og så er det hyggeligt. Tankerne glider på flugt, og tiden flyver, mens minder og forventninger får lov at danse ind og ud mellem hinanden.”

”Ja, man er tilbøjelig til at være alt for sent ude,” udbrød moderen,” jeg vil i gang med at bage. I år kunne jeg tænke mig at bage småkager og klejner, som vi gjorde for år tilbage, inden de blev så billige, at vi sprang over, hvor gærdet var lavest. Og den gode, gamle æbleskivepande skal også i sving. Jeg kan så godt lide at vende æbleskiverne med en strikkepind, og så er det en helt anden oplevelse at fedte gummerne med det hjemmelavede.”

Sådan fik en forestående, uendelig lang novembermåned, pludselig helt ny status i det lille hjem, og mon ikke det fører mere med sig, end de lige havde forestillet sig? For når juletoget først er fløjtet i gang, stopper det ikke så let igen, og selv nisserne mærker sikkert vibrationerne fra hjulenes rytmiske bumpen ved skinnesammenføjningerne. Røgen fra togets skorsten indeholder vistnok også duftnuancer fra appelsiner med tørrede nelliker presset i, kanel, grannåle, ristede mandler og kandiserede æbler. De sover nok rævesøvn og vågner helt, så snart juletogets fløjte lyder ved indkørslen til den første station.

Christmas Decorations

"Can someone remember where the box with Christmas decorations is?"

Emilie had been looking for a long time, but now she gave up and asked so loudly that everyone could hear it. Tom looked at her in wonder:

"We are then just beginning to embark on November. Why do you need the Christmas decorations so early?"

"I can’t stand November," said Emilie. "So I might as well check out the decorations and see what’s missing. There should be some colored sheets of glossy paper in the box, and then I will repair cones as needed, and maybe make some new ones. It takes time to cut, to merge and to glue, and it's so cozy. The thoughts slipping on the run, and time flies, the memories and expectations are allowed to dance in and out between each other."

"Yes, one is inclined to be too late," exclaimed the mother, "I want to start baking. This year I'd like to bake cookies and crullers like we did years ago before they were so cheap that we jumped over the fence where it was lowest. And the good old apple dumpling pan must also cornering. I really like turning apple slices with a knitting needle, and then it's a completely different experience to suck gums with the homemade."

That’s how the imminent, endless month of November suddenly got a new status in their small home, and I wonder if it leads to more than they had just imagined. For when the Christmas trains first whistles are heard, it does not stop so easily again, and even pixies brands vibrations from the wheels rhythmic bumps by the rails joints. The smoke from the train chimney contains probably also fragrance shades of oranges with dried cloves pressed in, cinnamon, pine needles, toasted almonds and candied apples. They sleep lightly now and wake up completely as soon as the Christmas train's whistle sounds at the entrance to the first station.

Kommunikation.

Påvirkes en prismatisk bjælke i ens øje med tværsvingninger, som svarer til dennes egenfrekvens, vil den udbøje som en søjle under tryk uden mulighed for resonans med splinten i en andens øje.

Hjertets frekvens giver resonans, når sindet er i ro, og er et intergalaktisk sprog, der overflødiggør ord og dermed oversættelser, mellem hjerter, idet resonansen kommunikerer i et felt, den egocentriske, sanserelaterede forståelse, i det væsentlige, ikke ræsonnerer med, uanset den drager fordele heraf.

Nogle vil måske mene, det er helt hen i vejret, men i virkeligheden er det ligeud af Mælkevejen.

Communication

When a prismatic beam in your eye is affected by transverse vibrations, as corresponds to its own frequency, it will deflect as a column under pressure without the possibility of resonance with the splinter in your neighbour’s eye.

Heart frequency provides resonance, when the mind is at rest, as an intergalactic language, making words superfluous, and thus translations, since the resonance communicate in a field the self-centered, sense-related understanding, in essence, do not calculate with, regardless it takes advantage from it.

Some may think this is completely in the air, but in reality it is straight out of the Milky Way.

Switching days

A point, lesser than the smallest and larger than the largest, quiet and hushed.

While the mind touches it with eternity fingertip, timelessness smiling, spreading rings beyond the limits mind have given it.

The atom is split, and all sound- and time barriers overturning stone on stone.

Rose petals opens, filmed through days and displayed in seconds.

None, however, seem to notice it, but everyone’s heads turning at once in the same direction, like iron filings to a magnet.

Chandelier thousand diamonds are lighted, and there are no more invisible angles.

Smiles are distance free, while days lasts less than a second,
and hours lasts forever.

The lapwing lubricates her hoarse vocal cords for next spring song,
while she enjoys exotic snails and insects between palms and cypresses.

Hønsekødssuppe.

Hun hældte en spand vand ud ved sokkelen nær bryggersdøren, da hun var færdig med at plukke hønen, som skulle være hovedingrediens i søndagens suppe. Det var nok dagens største fejl, for næppe havde hun tømt den sidste eftersjat ud, før lynet slog ned i laden. Det kom ganske uvarslet, der havde ikke været nogen rumlen, og ingen truende skyer på himlen.

Hvad hun ikke vidste, var at lige neden under, hvor vandet ramte, boede en vættefamilie. Og var der noget vætterne ikke brød sig om, var det at få plasket vand på loftet, især når de holdt siesta og lå og småkværulerede over hvor lang eller kort tid der var til jul. Og med sådan et snavset og varmt vandfald, var det ikke muligt at slå koldt vand i blodet, så vættefar råbte truende og mørkerød i hovedet:

”Nu kan det være nok.” 

Og det var det. Det var nok til at nedkalde et slemt lyn, som straks antændte laden, for vættefars vrede var farlig for både mennesker og dyr.

Set fra en menneskelig synsvinkel, var det en ond begivenhed, men fra vætternes muldvarpeperspektiv, var hævn ganske naturligt. Forståelse og tilgivelse fandtes ikke på deres menukort. Fred gav ingen mening og blev iagttaget med vantro.

De vidste nemlig, fra overleveringer, at de skulle tørre glade og frimodige smil af de tåber, som levede i fredelig velstand, og plukke høns med dem. Alt andet var blålys og ikke til at holde ud. Og vandet var bare dråben...

Vættelys vidste man da, hvad var, selv om de var helt uegnede til at koge en sund og nærende suppe på.

Chicken soup

She poured a bucket of water out near the house's foundation beside the brewery door, when she had finished picking the chicken, which should be the main ingredient in the Sunday soup. It may have been the biggest mistake this day, for no sooner had she emptied the last drop out before lightning struck the barn. It came quite unannounced, there had been no rumblings and no threatening clouds in the sky.

What she didn’t know was that just below where the water hit the ground, lived a pixie family. And if there was something the pixies did not like, it was getting splashes of water on their ceiling, especially when they had siesta and cavelling of how long or short, time there was at Christmas. And with such a dirty and hot waterfall, it wasn’t possible to beat the cold water in the blood, so pixie father shouted threatening and dark red in the head:

"Now that's enough."

And that was it. It was enough to bring down a horribly lightning, which immediately ignited the barn, for pixie father’s anger was dangerous to both humans and animals.

From a human point of view, it was a bad event, but from the pixies mole perspective, was revenge quite natural. Understanding and forgiveness was not on their menu. Peace made ​​no sense and was observed with disbelief.

They knew, from their traditions, that they should wipe happy and candid smiles of the fools who lived in peaceful prosperity, and pluck chickens with them. Everything else was flashing lights and not to stick out.

But the light from belemnites they could relate positive to, although they were quite unfit to cook a healthy and nutritious soup on.

Kronometer og moneter.

Tilbage til fortiden og ind med havemøblerne.
Tiden er løbet for hurtigt og må sættes på plads,
hvad kunne det ellers ende med?
Måske ville den løbe løbsk, beruset af tanken om at være foran.
Med tiden lærer den vel at indse,
at den må følge solens luner, eller måske burde den være ligeglad
og holde fast i sig selv.
Men tidløs får den næppe lov at være, det er der ingen
momenter og moneter i,
og den er hverken filosofisk eller religiøs,
men holder sig til det timelige.

Hænder.

Hænder i kreative bevægelser fører pensler mod lærreder
i søgende rytmer, bevæger violinernes buer hen over strengene
danser på flyglernes tangenter, former fugtigt ler
og skriver aforismer på servietter.

Vifter af korn spredes ud til fuglene, øl knappes op
og deles på bænken, og blomster rækkes frem mod smil.

Hands up

Hands with creative movements
lead brushes on canvas in seeking rhytms
moving violin bows across the strings
dancing on pianos keys, processing moist clay
and write aphorisms on serviettes.

Fans of grain spread out to the birds
beer buttoned up and shared on the bench
and flowers outstretched towards smiles.

Roselil.

Rosenknoppen bærer sin fineste kåbe

af morgendug, da solen får øje på hende

og frier varmt og vedholdende

berørt af hendes jomfruelige skønhed. 

Hun takker rødmende ja

udfolderer sig i fuldbyrdet flor

og tager imod solens velsignelser.

Imens udfolder pianisten blidt Liebestraum

næsten uden at berøre tangenterne.

Roselil

The rosebud carries

her finest robe of morning mist,

as the sun catches sight of her

and suitor, warm and sustained

affected by her virgin beauty.

She thanks blushing yes

unfolding herself in enforced bloom

and receive the sun’s blessings.

The while unfolding the pianist

softly Liebestraum almost without

touching the keyboard.