Ducks in the pond!

Vad skådade mitt norra öga? Två änder? I min damm? WTF? Men vad fina dem är!

The Beach

Det är fint häromkring. Skåne forever! Let me hear you say...Wheeeoo! Wheeeoo! Inte långt från där jag bor hittar man Ystad, som har en ytterst tilltalande sandstrand. Jag, min syster, hennes beau, och hund tog oss en promenad där för att smälta smörgåstårtan syrran födelsedagfirat med. Enjoy!

Måndag hela veckan!

I just finished watching "Groundhog Day" with Bill Murray as the cynical weatherman who get's stuck reliving the same day over and over again. It's a great film. Funny as hell. Murray - he's a genius.

Of course, the film teaches something. Make something of the moment. Learn to love yourself. Give to others, and life will give something back to you. It's all very spiritual.

So, the film and the story is inspiring stuff. I will try to learn. My premises are similar, albeit not exactly the same, to that of Murray's character. I'm not as cynical, not as unhappy, unfortunately not as poignant or creative. But, as with most of you out there, I sometimes get the feel that one day is like the next one, and that life - sometime - lacks that...umppff. Zeist. Colour. Sometimes, I do relive the same day, over and over again.

It would be unfair to say that life in Sjöbo - the habitat of my choosing - is any more, or less, colourless that life in other places. It's up to the protagionist, the person, to change his or her outlook on life, and make the most of things wherever there is. But I would say that life in Sjöbo offers less...distractions. Less things - like cafées, restaurants, bars, theaters, shops, museums, and, in general, you know, people, and the artefacts of people, at least cool people - to alleviate your boredom when the sky is just grey, grey, grey.

But still, I am being unfair. There is tranquility here. Time to think. Beauty. I'm in the kitchen garden, turning the soil, removing weed, making it ready for sowing. It's going to be a kind of meadow. Wildflowers. The sun is out, a ray of it shining through the trees on the patch of earth where I'm toiling, sweating. Birds are singing, and there's this special one - I think a lark - who struts next to me collecting material for a nest he's making in the hedge. I think I'm certain to get to know this bird. He's tame as it is. God be willing, he'll be back next year as well, and perhaps he'll remember me. Come sit in my hand. Who knows?

What is clear is that a moment like that would not have been, if I hadn't moved to a house with a garden in a little, quiet community. Or maybe it would. But let's agree that it increased my chances of experiencing it. To illustrate my point, and try to tie the ends of this little story together, consider this: It happened twice already. The kitchen garden in question is not big, but the roots of weed goes deep. Also, I tire easily. So, I've been out there, digging, two days in a row. Come rain or shine, I have to go out there tomorrow as well. And for two days the bird has been there. Will it be as nice tomorrow? Will the same thought cross my mind tomorrow as it did today: "Must remember not to cut the hedge until possible eggs are hatched". Will anything be different except the particular patch of earth, and, possibly, the weather?

Of course it will. I'm learning how to dig. Soon, I will dig no more. I will sow. Wildflowers. That will look beautiful. And then there will be other birds. I will save one of the little ones, who will have fallen from the nest, from a certain death in the jaws of a little cute cat. And then, like Murray in the movie, I will learn how to play the piano. I'll just take one day at a time.