Standing lady

She is standing here.

She is standing here since ages… waiting, but for what?


For me she was always kind of Pieta from Bornholm. Older than we are, older than this road, homes, thoughts. Older than… memory about Her. A woman holding her love one she was waiting for. The sea took his life, but gave her his body. She could mourn him, but now, she put him under her feet and is mad… Mad on nature, the sea and the sky. She is furious, but all she can do is cry her eyes out, because she can not bring his life back. But still, she has hope, and is waiting…

But for what?

After thousands of years she is just a stone, pointy shaped. Just a stone, but the story is still here. And a grave. Now empty. But little stones surrounding it are still guarding this story. This year She was my Midsummer One. I always choose one place which is special for me and this year she pushed in front. She just cried for attention. I have no idea why… is there something more?

For me?


Later, a bit late, I will create wreaths and go to my other places, to again tell them: I remember. This kind of past is my one. Somehow more suiting. Much older than this what people care about. I will go to my Ancestors – few burial mounds, one of the older, and to Louisenlund. I will be there to visit The Ghost and others… I will come to you. As always, but this year, a bit later, because of the sun. Because of this sadness inside of me. And because… I miss winter so much.


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