Pernilla Berglund

See yourself over the mountain, a trail to follow, rest areas, blotches of snow that do not melt in the summer. The downy birches are the starting line, the elevation, the ascent the distance. The place where you were heading. But after every crest (summit) there is a new (summit). What you see from that height, a billowing quilt, the mountain. It unfolds.

It is only here

A morning, the ground closest to the tree. It is here we begin. The lines, how it can be along side. I choose you and to mean the same thing. Not like promising, just the evident. The bark, I rest my hand on you, your skin. I am closer to you here.

For you; as I would like to be, clear through and through. All that I have left unsaid,            that I have to let go. If I show myself, my patterns, I condemn myself. I cannot use my choices against you.

As I feel you now, the trees like a yes along the riverside. The sun in the water, it is more in the movement, the currents. When I think, I am everything in the feeling. The long valley, the river’s way downwards. It is only here, my way to you.

You search for the simple of me, what does not take space. The sunlight when it awakens you in the morning, you can never know otherwise