When I went for a walk in Vilsbøl Plantation
the animals seemed to laugh at me. A sneaky
viper guffawed, for it had for a long time
been intending to bite me severely on the foot.
Nors Lake fought to keep its mischievous
smile hidden in its back currents. It had
decided to drown me – if I should ever
get the idea to strip off and bath in it.
The whole of Vilsbøl Plantation stood
and chuckled knowing it was leading me
astray, leading me so far I would never
be able to figure my way out
of this murky green anxiety. The little
creek babbling towards Nors wound
cunningly in the fields, from the forest
of Tved to the town of Nors. Intending
no doubt to wrap itself around my body
choke me with its hidden tides, then send
me in its wake into the centre of Nors
Churchtown to show the unmistakable
power held by mother nature.
(Translated by Peter Graarup Westergaard/Mary-Jane Holmes)
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