June is my favorite month of the year, without a doubt, closely followed by July and May. I am a summer child and those of you who have been following my writing for years know that I and Mr. Summer are involved in a candid, but everlasting love affair.
I love June mostly for its light. Living almost as north as one can in Denmark, I carry out currently almost a daily ritual of stepping outside close to midnight, to feast my eyes on the illuminated night sky.
Climate wise, June and overall the third season in Scandinavia can be defined as a warmer spring, or April times three. Summer often rains away and it feels as if it ends before it even begun, while we still patiently wait for it to start. The days when the temperatures sneak above 20C can often be counted on the fingers of one hand. However, once in a blue moon we do also have exceptional summers that defy the rule and every year we hope that this will be the one.
As I sat bundled up in our garden a week back, enduring strong winds and clouds, risking to catch pneumonia, the occasional sun peaking through and it's warming rays hitting my face felt though like a vital therapy. The air was incredibly fresh. Inhaling it deeply I felt it purified my entire being. It's consistency so clear, so icy cold yet so clean and so saturated by the scent of the North Sea. I was suddenly - and momentarily - in awe of the weather conditions in the land I call home. I found inspiration in the rugged beauty, unpredictability and a life force of this climate, the one that fuels growth, lushness and bloom.
Sensing the weather elements with all my being, my eyes were drawn to an ivory clematis, planted by the previous tenants of the house. My husband is a perfect man in many ways, but he is definitely no gardener and the plant has been neglected for years. This spring the vine received the proper care and thus it grows with uncanny speed, stretching its tentacle like leafstalks ever so higher up the wooden terrace pole. I watched them swaying in the gale force winds and simultaneously could not help but notice that some grabbed onto the wooden pole in an almost human like way. The growing stalks of clematis are extremely delicate - pull slightly and they will break. Yet they can cling onto a surface in the most dexterous and proficient way, appearing tough and rugged, almost like there is mastermind, an intelligent thinking behind this action. It made me contemplate plants as lifeforms and whether they perhaps are much more complex than is assumed.
I have noticed that I mention my husband in almost every post and I assure you that is unintentional. I guess he is always on my mind and that will ultimately show in my writing. Sometimes it dawns on me, that I am indeed married. We got married only a week before he left and thus the event first now settles into my perception as reality - yet the sheer excitement of the fact still sends shivers down my spine.
I love being married.
I miss him terribly, at times every cell in my being longs to hold him... There are moments when I think that I simply can not go on one more second without feeling his touch and I fall into a temporary depression. But then a new day dawns and I get up from the ground, brush myself off and get on with life. I am thankful for this experience, no matter how hard it is at times, as it is reshaping me as a human being, building my character, my stamina and my resilience.
I am glad though that I can sense him everywhere in the house. His things, his clothes, his smiling face in the pictures of us - it all makes me feel as if he is about to return at any moment. And yet, now that a month has passed since his departure, the house is changing. I find this very interesting and utterly fascinating. The children are not here with me either, only the occasional visit here and there, thus this house bears more and more an imprint of me. Most of all its scent. Have you ever noticed how every home has its unique scent. I guess it is a scent that defines its occupants and is initiated by the life that flourishes within its walls. Our house has lost the scent I recall, when I visited it for the first time. It has a scent that is no longer a foreign one to me, but a very familiar and comfortable one. The one of my home.
I saw the film An Education the other day. It was a sweet movie, not making the big impression on me that I have hoped, yet I was entertained. Nevertheless, there was a scene that will stay with me for a long time. The female heroine - Jenny - contemplates;
"Action is character", our English teacher says. I think it means that if we never did anything, we wouldn't be anybody.
I think this is my life philosophy summarized in the most eloquent way.
Indeed, our actions are the essence of our life. We might not always do the right thing, but remaining standing still in a safe place makes us into nobody.
In my life I have surely taken the wrong turns more times that I care to admit. Still, it never deterred me from taking action. Considering all the places I have been to and all the unforgettable experiences and encounters I have created along the way, I can safely conclude that perhaps I will never be anybody special - yet I will never be a nobody.
I was born under the Tatra Mountains, to a Czech father and a Slovak mother. I grew up in Sweden and lived almost ten years in North Carolina.
More than a decade ago my line of work took me to Denmark, where I live today. My home, which I share with the man that holds my heart, lies in the northerly part of a Danish peninsula, in the proximity of endless, wide and pristine westbound sandy beaches, surrounded by the rough and untamed North Sea.
My writing is defined by reflections on my cosmopolitan past and my intriguing present. Ultimately I try to convey in words and images my personal thoughts and feelings about life itself, with all its magic, natural splendour and the beauty of simple pleasures.