ARILD

When I was a kid our usual summer resort was Kullen in Sweden. That was only about 50 miles from Copenhagen where I grew up, but altogether different from Denmark. A massive granite ridge, 650 feet high, jutted out from the otherwise low coast. On the southern side was the popular tourist town Mölle, where the steamship from Copenhagen berthed. From there it was an hours walk to Arild, a fishing village on the northern shore, where we rented for the summer.
Arild was situated just where the granite began to rise. The path between Mölle and Arild went south of the highest part, and the north side was very steep and wild, with fields of scree, and without any paths. This was my domain, where from countless expeditions I knew my way around, penetrating dense forest, stuffing myself with blueberries, balancing on the scree, climbing the rocks by the water or mounting the peaks, from where the Danish coast could be seen far away to the south, and Hallandsåsen across the bay to the north. It was a paradise of freedom!
Once, when I was about ten years old, I had an epiphany in an enchanted sunlit clearing. This is one of the moments that have stayed with me, as fresh in memory as when it happened. However ordinary the circumstances it became unforgettable by the intensity of feeling. For an eternity, sitting in the tall flowery grass, I was one with the humming of summer around me.