bergense beesten

relaxation is here

(picture with phone HTC3G)

bergense hopper

things I see while running... (2)

... een wit reeënkontje in de bosjes dat snel uit mijn zicht verdwijnt.

bergense ijspegels

things I see while running...

... drie kraaien aan de vloedlijn die zich te goed doen aan een onthoofde duif.

night shining clouds

On one of our winter holidays in Norway (Sjusjøen, 2008) we saw these clouds in the evening, after the sun had set. Today I am reading about (the apparently rare) night shining clouds on the Earth Observatory and wondering whether these would qualify as such. 

Anyway, they are beautiful. And next week we might see them again, we are looking forward to another great week in Nordseter. 

Here is the picture of the Earth Observatory, click on more to read the accompanying text:

vision

With age
mirage
assuages
what the youthful eye
would have studied
until identified—
chicory? bluebird? debris?
Today no nomenclature
ruptures
the composure
of a chalk-blue haze
pausing, even dawdling,
now and then trembling
over what I'm going to call
fresh water.

-Erica Funkhouser, 2010-

boring day at the office?

brutaal

en dat is dan al de tweede keer dat ik hardop moet lachen om gummbah, het moet niet gekker worden....
(uit de volkskrant van 17 januari)

a new law

Let there be a ban on every holiday.
        No ringing in the new year.
No fireworks doodling the warm night air.
        No holly on the door. I say
let there be no more.
        For many are not here who were here before.

-Greg Delanty, 2010-

not everybody...

by Hugh MacLeod from gaping void

bergense bordjes

eindejaarsgedicht

The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate 
    When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
    The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
    Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
    Had sought their household fires. 

The land's sharp features seemed to be
    The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
    The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
    Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
    Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
    The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
    Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
    In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
    Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
    Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
    Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
    His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
    And I was unaware.

-Thomas Hardy, 31 December, 1900-

Oorspronkelijke titel: By the Century's Deathbed

(een darkling thrush is een nachtelijke lijster)

kerstsneeuw

eerste kerstdag, egmond aan zee

kerstmolens

tweede kerstdag, bergen aan zee

kerstrun

eerste kerstdag, strand bij bergen aan zee

stopping by woods on a snowy evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost, 1923-

in de bergense duinen

scheveningen 9:20