The cycling chronicle continues. We loaded the bikes onto the car and drove north--stopping at a konditori that sold cardamom buns to die for. Recycled back roads (are there any that aren't?) To view standing stones with rune writing, a story of a man whose son was killed in a military campaign (I think) anyway a saga of grief and personal loss. The best kind, full of human pathos and drama.
We continued to an old church (are there any other kind in Sweden?) Built about 1100--it was Catholic, before the King Vasa in 1523 abolished the Catholic religion and set up a Lutheran church state, thereby giving away church lands to his court. Into the walls of the church were inserted some of these standing stones, a blending of ages past.
Well, you certainly don't have that in the States--unless one counts an abandoned school in Detroit.
Ruins, again, remind us of our own mortality. That a thriving community is vulnerable to changing time mms estimates, to local officials and administrators, that one day someone might be picnicking on top of my church, the coffee shop, the homeless shelter down the street. We can all become victims m s of time.
Finally we stopped at Ellen Key's house, a Swedish writer. I learned it is possible to apply for a residency expressly for women writers. It is situated overlooking Lake Vattern.
Leaving that ace we climbed with the bikes up and up. I'm not sure it was a mountain, Utah my legs and Danny wouldn't know the difference. Coming down the otherside, we gobbled up the km u til soon we were back at the car to eat chocolate'm ate and glory in our accomplishments.
That evening a local literary gathering called Pints and Poems met at a restaurant and I shared a poem, Meeting Up at Millennium Park.