Stop the rush of spring

Björn Rudbergs writings

When we got closer to the sea we saw how the chill of winds over water had made the spring progress a little slower. We felt like gaining back some of the time we had lost, to be able to drink the light green of birches once again, to walk slowly, to stop the constant rush of time. Splash of orchid purple blended with the cowslip yellow, and through the trees we saw the mirror of the sea.

We walked for an hour or three, time ceased to matter, we walked across meadows and through forests where in dappled light the anemones spread its carpet, pretending to be stars at night. We walked in garlic fumes from ramsoms ready for harvest. We picked a few to be cut for salad with tomatoes later. Before we left, we sat down on the shore to eat the picnic we had brought. Sedated…

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