at the fair.

these are some of the things I see at the fair.

I like to go to the fair.

dear angels.

come and take me away.

to that great and foggy shore.

I remember your hand on my heart,

and so many days of longing.

you walked quietly with me everywhere,

and now there is but you and your old shirt.

you are so sweet to say, or did you speak at all?

tonight the moon looks different in the southern sky.

and now the trees whisper too,

their sad goodbyes forever.

why they speak is a riddle we can't know.

or only know by dreaming.

your path leads home.

and one straight and true is my hope for you.

but only from the heart because,

your sighs bring more truth to this place.

sven.

hey ma... marino's!

if you ever want to go to marino's restaurant in fridley minnesota, but were confused about it's secret home inside an american legion or it's location, just ask me (or look it up). and I recommend you do go since it's one of my favorites! 

the last time we went it was a thursday night, which everyone will tell you, is polish night... (at an italian restaurant? I know, it seems confusing, but makes perfect sense, trust me)  ...where steaming polish delicacies are served fast while the excellent polka band serenades dancers and diners alike. 

ma opts for a trusty patty melt and I go local with the polish combo: pork roast, pierogis, cabbage roll, mashed potatoes, polish sausage, beets, dark bread, and of course...  saur kraut. yum. a few white russians, some excellent food, a quick dance... what more could you ask for?

dancers take the floor, fun.  americana.  during this past visit and every once in awhile when we go, there is a young lad of seven or eight, who takes over the drum kit. what a gas, he really loves to play! his playing style can best be described as: 'exhuberant'. really great though! our time at marino's has once again come to an end. my belly's full, my feet are tired, my vision is foggy but my heart is true, see you soon at marino's!

viva la marino's!

marinos

tall trees.

closer to your heart.

the end has come again.

do what you must my mighty friend,

do what you think best.

how many moons do we wander?

to find a coin in a brook?

or a bird who has fallen asleep,

and dreams of going but never wakes.

this tale has no ending.

just a chapter after this.

who knows the reasons anymore?

but a mountain meadow is always home...

sven.

the crows.

to what ends and why?

your place in the heart of things,

and only a hole there now.

just a couple of flowers and a rock, that's it.

spring and mud outside on the steps.

the sun through dirty glass.

an amplifier never plugged in.

only a broken string but so much left to play.

like your promises, that were just a few,

and all of them broken.

but one...  spoken so true,

and never thought of again.

sven.

(unkown title and date, approx. 4x6', stephen)

little journeys: rochester.

   last weekend we went on a little journey south to rochester minnesota. it is only an hour and a half from st. paul, but we took the long way around and so it took much longer. we traveled along the wisconsin side of the mississippi until wabasha and crossed over the river there. the route is dotted with small towns along the river and in the countryside. we travel through towns like stockholm wisconsin and plainview minnesota and this is some of the stuff we see...

odd little nooks and crannies, trucks with logs and venerable old swedish stores. at the book store / curio shop the owner is into all things tesla and is impressed that I notice his electronic equipment and connect the two...

we have lunch in pepin wisconsin and our seats overlook the water. after, we drive further through bluff country and into middle america. finally arriving in the center of the medical universe, rochester minnesota...

rochester minnesota is a quiet sort of town filled with the history of the mayo brothers and the nuns who helped build this medical paradise. it is pastoral and filled with lovely homes, a monastery, some dale chihuly art and of course hospitals.

well I really enjoyed the time with family and the sites and the travels but it was nice to come home to wintermoor in columbus minnesota.

chihuly

skrog!?

   sometimes, for fun I still play skrog!?
that wonderful old folky game my family taught to me when I was small.  the challenge is to carefully place the gki ball in the skrog (well) with nothing more than your wits and a pair of mittens. of course there are strict rules of etiquette and it takes a life time to actually master.

   oh how I long for those marathon nights of yester-year playing skrog!?  'till early morning. I can remember poor cousin karin crying: "sven, how is it you are besting me all the time?"  before I had to tell her my secret was to only play from the heart. many tried but only three or two could beat me.

do you ever have four or five hours you want to enjoy to the upper limit?!  I say...  skrog!?

gnomish.

murmurs on a tuesday evening.

a story must be some day told:

how were the roses there?

were they like the moon on the mountains?

or a summer's eve without sound.

if a breeze then a whisper.

please don't say any more.

...we've been dreaming too long.

tonight she waits in her garden,

for the stars to shine again.

why don't we pretend for now?

and a friendship passed like lost art.

sven. 

little travels.

bless you in your little travels.

the smallest of the least.

of your fate I'll always wonder,

when ever I look east.

your family awaits you hungrily.

they long to hear your tales.

remember me to them.

when south winds fill your sails.

the time has come for you to go.

I hate to see you leave.

ten thousand leagues by sunrise.

and light years by the eve.

sven.

humming bird wintermoor columbus minnesota august 2013 iphone.