….. will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

by Robert Frost.

….. October 22nd, when Gaddafis family mourns, our fighters is going home and we discusses and speculate over the strange new world we now inhabit, than to look at the plants and herbs which grows here and have lasted through man and gods, kings and conquerors, acting as prophylactics and cures, as tastes and pleasures which go back to the beginning of existence?

Some of which we found when we came here to Paradise; as the wild fig and apple tree and the lavender, which grows around us and provides that unforgettable smell unique to our Paradise.

Cottage poetry:

Purple lavender is a beautiful thing,
flowering in violet,
in winter or spring.

The leaves vary from silver to green,
it grows wild here in the North,
and of wild herbs it’s king.

Flowers are white, purple, or pink,
but only the purple,
makes you mind stop and think.

Songs and stories, have come down through time,
of the purple lavender,
in it’s inhospitable climes.

If you’re ever in Denmark, come check it out,
cause the purple lavender,
is what the North is about.

….. on the trigger yesterday, when I stated: “it feels like indian summer here”.

This morning heaven and earth is one. Rain, lightning and thunder pours down upon us, reminding us, that although we live in paradise, this place can be very rough when a storm appears.

But even when the gods are pouring their rage down upon us, this place is unbelievably beautiful. Today, wind blows from the north and the sea is such a wonderful green color - but nobody sees it, because even our most frequent beach-visitor has gone back to safety at their hotel, and left the beach desolated.

I feel tempted to defy the rage of Thor, and set out on a wonderful walk on the lonely beach (but maybe I’ll wait till the thunder has died down - just in case).

Cottage poetry:

Hello! Said hot air to the cold,
(which made the clouds upset, I’m told)
for at the top of their encounter,
they noticed no one else around them.

And hot air flashed cold air a smile,
which could be seen for many miles,
and cold air cried in great delight,
which shook the skies with force and might.

The clouds got scared and ran for cover,
to give privacy, to these two lovers.
For love, although we think it warm,
can be as violent as a storm.

….. boat out at sea.

Cottage poetry:

Take me out to the ocean,
 take me out to the sea,
show me the foamy waves that is rolling there,
let me breathe the salty air!

Let me look at the ocean,
let me see the sea and explore,
for it’s fun to dive from the top of the waves,
down to the sandy ocean floor!

….. a field of wildflowers.

….. and suddenly I realize, that if I stepped out of my body I would break into blossom.

Cottage poetry:

Every light begins with darkness
Every flower was once a seed
And with the sun and wind to test us
We are bound to be released!

….. I’d be perfectly happy if I woke up tomorrow and it was September.

Don’t get me wrong. I love summer freckles, ice cream, water that looks like the color of blueberries…..

….. but August is going to be crazy busy, and honestly, I’d rather just skip it.

But last week, we went sailing, and I let my fingers dip into the water as we floated along. It was such a refreshing, calming feeling; I suddenly realized just how precious these little moments are, and how crazy it is to wish to skip time.

So, let me start over: August, nice to see you!

Cottage poetry:

Tick Tock. I lay adrift on an ocean of time.
Surrounded by the still blue sky above.
Floating on calm blue water.
Tick Tock - I lay adrift and dream of you.
You shine - like the stars on a summer night.
Unreachable - but still so close.

My heart is ticking and the planks are creaking.
My heart is like a clock.
Counting not days, not hours, but minutes.
Floating in silence on an ocean of time.
Passion, desire - the smell of tarred wood.
Promises unspoken, by lips that plead for fulfillment.

Tick Tock. I drift farther from your
Tick Tock, days, hours, minutes without you.

My heart is a clock, it’s a muscle, it’s a nerve.
But a clock is meaningless without time.
Without time, a clock would simply count emptiness.
My heart is a clock and you are my time.
You give purpose to an empty muscle.
Breathing life into my nerve.

Tick Tock. I lay adrift on an ocean of time,
Hoping for the current to swift,
And bring me back to you.

….. and finally the sun is here!

Now, it’s time to dust off my bike and head for the beach.

But before I go, here is a little poem to celebrate this lovely summerday.

Cottage poetry:

lying and watching the sun rise
I know time is near
time to love
time to laugh
time to cheer
lying and watching the sun rise

leaning and watching the sun sway
over the green green grass
over the blue blue sky
over the white white clouds
leaning and watching the sun sway

sitting and watching the sun set
down to the sea
down to the bluest of seas
down to the wet wet sea
sitting and watching the sun set

dreaming
not breathing
not hearing
not moving
dreaming

lying and watching the sun rise
leaning and watching the sun sway
sitting and watching the sun set
loving
laughing
cheering

….. accompanied by a lovely smell of vanilla and lemon, which rises from a jar of homemade lemon curd, as deep yellow as the sun overhead.

Cottage poetry:

It’s bitter, sweat and yellow
it’s sunshine on a tree
plug it on a summer day
and bring it home to me

3 lemons boiled with sugar
add a little butter to
squeeze the juice and mix with cornstarch
beat an egg yolk in, or two

Sink your spoon in to the lemon
stir to it get creamy thick
pour the curd in to a glass
and cool it in the fridge

Cottage cooking:

In my opinion, most of our pies and cakes would not be anything to write home about, if it were not for the lovely cream and jam we fill them with.

Lemon Curd (1 small jar)
3 lemons
1 1/2 dl sugar
50 g butter
2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 eggs
2 egg yolks

Do this:
Mix grate from 3 lemons with juice from 2 lemons and boil up with sugar and butter.

Pour liquid through a sieve.

Mix cornstarch into the juice from the third lemon and stir it into the hot liquid.

Beat the eggs together and stir them into the hot liquid, place the liquid back on the stove and let it simmer, stirring constantly until the cream gets thick.

Pour the cream into a clean glass and let it cool.

Tip: the Lemon curd should be kept in the refrigerator.

….. of summer is also the arrival of boats at the end of the small jetties along the coast.

Here you can see all the small craft ‘s bobbling in the waves made from the big boats, passing out at sea. The sea causes them to move as if they where toy boats or rubber duck’s, in comparison with the big ferry which passes us twice a day, on it’s way to the harbor in the old town.

We have borrowed an old wooden boat. In this splendidly solid vessel, two could sleep in the front cabin and two in the back. She can take us as fare as Sweden, if we whish so; and we can spend the summer sunbathing, sleeping, cooking in the galley kitchen and diving in to the sea from her bow, in the early dawn, or late at night, taking a swim in the silvery moon light.

Cottage poetry:

The sky is clear and glowing
The moon is big and bright
I feel the sea around me
It’s sparkles in the night

The shadows hide amongst the waves
I listen to the sea
A nighttime opera is performed
A magic symphony

The beauty of the ocean
Gives me passion and delight
It makes my heart beat faster
And surrender to the night

….. a reason for visiting the small town where our paradise lies: for me, at least, it’s like a magical place full of small crooked houses, narrow streets and a wealth of amazing colorful flowers in all the small front yards.

Here you find brightly colored fruit and vegetables piled in barrows outside the shops next to inflatable beach toys and plastic buckets.

There is also the mixed interior, clothing and jewelry shop, which I often visited with my daughter during her childhood, a beautiful wonderland filled with colorful fabrics, rings, jangling gypsy gold bracelets and cute earrings for ears painfully pierced at a far too early age.

In this Aladdin’s cave, you can also be lucky to find real treasures among many years of beach finds. Here is emerald glass turned in to lampshades, jewelry made of colorful glass pieces from long-disintegrated bottles, curtains made of seashells, amazing wooden sculptures twisted by the forces of nature, and if you are lucky, deep blue of real Venetian goblet, swept in by high water in a violent storm one day.

Cottage poetry:
Skies of blue will change to dark
clouds of grey will come from fare
getting ready for the storm
the air will changes to cold from warm

Storm clouds gather across the sea
gusty winds shakes mighty trees
across the sky lightning streaks
and rumbling thunder starts to speak
as the wind begins to blow
it’s kind of frightening to behold