Black Water

The cold sea

Changes color

Turns black and white

Waves hitting the shore

Winter and water

Freezes you to the bone

Rugged beauty

Keeps you moving

And makes your

Feet very cold

Finding a way

Through the deep snow

Between the pine trees

It is hard but possible

Metamorfosis

The night is white

Enlighten by the snow

And thousands of lamppost

A cold wind blows

filled with moisture

The clouds travels

Hastily from the west

On the street black shadows passing by

A reminder of the changeable

 

Existens

Empty spaces

 

In between us

There are small secret rooms

Not visible to others

Rooms where we meet

At night

Sharing our most inner

Thoughts and dreams

Dreams that grows from

The final hope of a better world

Sharing and caring

Outside the cold daylight view

While we move around the market, street

Or prayer house

Where we are strangers every day

To one another

 

 

 

Frozen Ground

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This is my land

And it is frozen

Cold, frigid, unfriendly

Built on wrath and frustration,

By determined people

Frugal, sterile land

Of slow living

I was born here

But this land is not my land

This land just bore my weight

I did not grow here

Just barely survived

So I could grow where

I truly belong

Sands of Time — Discover

Sometimes another perspective is necessary in order to understand the world. This place reminds me in an awkward way of the far north. Places with only snow and no trees, windy stretches of roads often clogged by snow dunes up to five meters.

 

Photographer James Dee Clayton travels across Morocco, across the tallest dunes of the Sahara Desert.

via Sands of Time — Discover

Fear and Prosperity

It is all in the making

We just do not know what it is

The aggressive confidence

Easy solutions to difficult problems

Or just denial of that there are anything wrong

The snow keeps falling,

While we are preparing

Clearing the shelter, cleaning the gun, stocking up

We know, we believe, we fear

Still we know nothing, remember nothing

Real war is still distant, surreal

In silence I prepare my life as an ageing Odysseus

A journey that will last a life time

Without returning to Ithaca

 

Cold Houses

The warmth of the fire

Contrast to the white snow

Even inside the house

White steam comes out of our noses

Creating a warm house takes time

And patience but most importent

Warm feet

Esoteric Matter

Snow is a strange thing

Somewhat surreal

Out of this world

When it comes in masses

Obliterating every life form

Purifying and destroying

In its terrible beauty

Going North makes one remember

What Winter used to be like

That feeling when your hands

Slowly turn red than white

And you know is not good