Sunday, April 9

There was a subtle tinge of orange to the grey skies this morning and the Wolf Sound was covered in a light mist, which almost hid Kosterland. Cascades of forsythia flowers form a yellow canopy over the lunch table. The daylong rest in the scullery before I took in the cuttings has done them good, it seems.

Outside, the tallest daffodils are about to bloom and the birds have begun to sing. A few excited soloists are letting their hearts out in the hoolabaloola of chirps and quacks. Then, a flock of seagulls starts a brawl, yakking and nattering for a while before they move on.
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LIFE AND OPINIONS

Read a selection of Bent Albrectsen's articles from the Life and Opinions series. I hope it is not a sign of the times that the price of the book was a tenth of what was asked when it came out in 2001. Then again, who wants to read an old man's ramblings about his ties, his laundry, the decay in the taste of strawberries or the truthfulness of mortuary columns? Maybe it is the relief that I am not going dotty, just getting older, that makes me appreciate these small, unpretentious essays. I recognize the fear of chaos, the loathing of what a younger man would think of as only minor nuisances and the resentment of the continual lowering of the minimum quality of everything. Mostly because I work in the city, I think. Down here, there is not much to complain about. The cats mess up the rose bed. Things like that.

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