Two years ago I walked over a small rise, a tiny mountain more like a giant hill than an actual mountain. It is a lone rise overlooking the flat plains that dominate the eastern Swedish landscape. These photos were taken on the way down and in the forest that covers most of the mountain’s sides, their canopy looks like a sea of green waves moving to the wind. On one side the mountain plummets into one of Swedens two biggest lakes.
There are folktales from prechristian time connected to places like this one in Sweden, relics of a time where magic was as real as the air we breathed. Who knows, perhaps the spirit of Queen Omma of still watches over Omberg? Who she was? She was a woman who possessed the ability to shapeshift into a mountain owl.
Lately I’ve felt something that often comes back to me time and again. I feel a strange sort of beckoning, a soundless call. It is a pull, as if though something was tugging at my soul telling me – no, demanding that I go out into the wilderness away from people and away from society.
I have many memories such as these ones in green. Nature has always been present in my life. I wouldn’t want to have it any other way. I wish I could spend more time in Frigg’s gorgeous garden.