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The Spirit of My Hometown
A new generation of young families has moved into my street over the past couple of years as part of an extensive invasion of my hometown, Bruunshåb.
Where they come from? I have no idea.
In this regard, I have a rule that I must not drive beyond second gear when I’m on our road. You never know when a ball-obsessed kid might come running out from a bush, or when the neighbor’s spoiled mutt might once again escape and act sanctimonious in my lane.
I have to be cautious because I have no desire to run anything over or be hypocritical. Admittedly, I haven’t been better myself.
We once had a couple of banana bikes, and I used to recklessly pedal away, cutting corners on the road to win the race. I had no idea what I was doing. I came close to becoming a decoration with a red theme on the hot asphalt once, when on a warm August evening in my early years, I was confronted head-on by the neighbor’s Ford in the bend.
I make a left turn; the surface changes from tiles to gravel. To the left is my former daycare, and I always glance through the lower right window. Down there, I once had my designated spot on the bookshelf, where I could easily squeeze in with my little figurine.
Nowadays, I struggle to fit my legs into my mom’s Renault. Much has changed.
I continue down the winding gravel road, while the sound of running water slowly but surely intensifies. I stand in the wet grass and draw a line. I need to drink some water, I think, as the liquid surrenders to gravity and continues flowing down the gravel road.
In this moment, I find myself in the aftermath of the last great ice age, a meltwater valley. I am in Bruunshåb.
The scent of fresh water, the sight of ducks and water lilies, and the cursed feeling of mosquitoes hit me as I stand by the water’s edge.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m wearing blinders and only sporadically gaining a sense of the reality I’m trudging through. But maybe it’s just me?
Behind me, the red paper factory rises from the gravel. Children used to stand in dust and steam at the factory, stomping on various…
