The House in the Dunes –
An Ode to Existence
Early autumn wind wanders upon the
I can feel it, perceivably colder now,
on my skin.
Hear how it bends the beach grass,
that surrounds me on all sides, how it’s thrown back and forth.
In the distance waves crush ashore, at last…
the wind has turned to south-west over night, the North Sea, oddly calm the last few days, finally is playing its rough song again.
I have arrived.
Here in the pleasantly calm North of Denmark.
The curiosity yields to utter satisfaction, the wild chaos in my head gives way for quiet thoughts.
The senses recollect themselves:
I can hear more clear now, am acquainted with the screams of the birds, know the winds and the distinct silence of this place. I smell the salt particles in the air, the ripe sea buckthorn in the dunes, the sunscreen on my skin, slightly heated by the Northern sun.
And I can see the tiny details, the slow change of the morning light, the green shades in the blue of the sea and the blue shades in the green of
I have arrived. Here in the house in the dunes.
It’s a place, that invites me to stand still and that itself is doing so.
The wind in the beach grass, the stormy sea,
the colourful kites, dancing in late September light:
Nothing has been any different last year, and nothing will be in the next.
The silence, that surrounds me, emerges from the absence of change.
I think it’s called consistency.
Up here, the world is simply the world.