I always expect, that on the 23th of a month something unusual and interesting will occur. Since I was a teenager I believed that 23 is my lucky number, probably because it was lucky for Michael Jordan, and I was his greatest fan then. Ok, truth was he was/is just a splendid basketball player, he has a gift and no number has anything to do with it. Still, I began to associate 23 with some magic qualities-for example, I have noticed that whenever I look somewhere, this number is in sight. Be it house number, license plate, some random doodle on the wall, computer clock which shows precisely 23:23. At some point it was even alarming. Now I rarely see it, and I don'l look for it. I watched "Number 23" with Jim Carrey some time ago to remind myself why I don't like this movie, but I can somewhat understand obsession of a main character.
So, I did expect something amazing today, but it didn't happen. Amazing thing happened yesterday instead-a trip to one of the most interesting woods in the country. O. picked me around 11, and along with Grandpa we set off for a adventure. Of course we didn't take Grandpa for a walk in the woods, because he's too wobbly, only left him with O.'s folks. Great weather: drizzle, about 20C, no wind and virtually no mosquitos, cloudy sky. Silence. Picking wild strawberries. Birds singing, very delicate rustle of trees, ocasionally twigs cracking under our feet. Almost no conversations between us. No people. No distant sound of cars or trucks or trains. Thor allmighty, this was GOOD. Animal tracks. Clear stream water. We were walking without plan nor real sense of direction. If it wasn't for Grandpa, who eventually should get home at decent hour, and dinner awaiting, we would probably stay there until nightfall. And there are wolves in these woods, and much more. We found a nest of Lesser Spotted Eagle up, up on the pine tree-couldn't see him, but heard him allright. It was a chick-no doubt. We'd been waiting for his parents to come back, but they didn't show up. O. says they are nesting at the same area every year. We found three feathers.
I particularly liked tiny drops of drizzle settling on my face. Felt a bit like somewhere in the mountains, or outskirts of Bergen as I remember it. When we came back to the wooden house where aunt and uncle were spending their holidays, we ate our dinners talked and took some more silly pictures. Played badminton and my whole arm feelss somewhat painful because of it. We took Grandpa home, and I was surprised to find out that my frames are ready!AND I'm ending this thing cheap because instead of proper payment for them I can give away one of my paintings-the first one I made actually, with Eurasian Eagle Owl with hedgehog in his claws. Oh, well.
Spent some time at O.'s pretending to be interested in football match between Greece and Germany (Germany kicked ass hard), and shortly before 23 took my bike and set off home.
If weather allows on tuesday we'll go to even greater woods- to Puszcza Białowieska. Time is running.
20 days.
Watched "Hobo with a shotgun" today, and I must say it HAD potential but was literally killed by bad acting. I am not talking about Mr.Rutger Hauer, because he certainly was the only one there doing his job. Rest of characters were so exagerrated, that it was painful to watch. A lot of gore, by the way, which doesn't bother me.
Some wild strawberries picking again-this time near the house. Discovered whole new strawberry field, of which even aunt was unaware. YUM!
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