Birthday mostly

My birthday came and went, and it did both in a quiet and discreet fashion. I went up to my grandmother for the weekend (not the same as mentioned before) along with my mother and aunt. We ate cinnamon buns, went for walks, and I wrote desperately on the “opening, or the first two chapters of a book for small children” (though nothing really came out of it). I like going up to grandma, the village she lives in is so small, and the big cold house seems to be in another time zone. Everything is flowing slowly and quietly. I like to think it’s so cold up there that the time freeze a bit, not enough to stop it entirely only just so it has another feel to it, another way of running through you.

For my birthday I got an electric screwdriver, an old Danish chauffeur’s hat, the complete works of William Shakespeare (an edition from 1951 that used to belong to my grandfather) and a lovely purple scarf.

Walking through the fields with the purple scarf, my new coat and an old skirt I felt very neat and almost pretty. The autumn is so beautiful up there, the curves of the black and brown fields and the orange-yellow of the trees, everything wrapped up in fog… I had to look away at times, just so I wouldn’t dissolve in the air.

On one of my walks I walked past a leek field. I’ve never thought of where leeks come from before, though it’s quite obvious that they grow in fields now I think of it.