Tales from Winters Realm, Book 2
Photography, and whimsical thoughts presented over 15 chapters as a collection of short stories, photography and poetry from life on Earth.
by Norse author Mike Koontz.
UHD book reading video TBA
Weekend read (Three Nights Bed time read)
Enjoy!.
Author, photography and web adaptation: Mike Koontz
2017, a Norse View Imaging and Publishing
Music of the day
Ashen roots by Netherbirds
To the daisy that is my sun and inspiration
Watch & listen to this book, or continue reading at your leisure
I walk
one step in front
of the other
the seasons, that play
upon thin threads of
trees and leafs
bodies
and flesh, it is the quaint imaginary
Is it spring or autumn
I cant quite tell
this
twilight morning
but perhaps you know
that the snow is gone
and the squirrel
plays it peculiar
song of joy
a beaver speaks
and the water breaks
once more
against both
the
old and
new
stones that lay
down in our creek
falcons and deers
two little cubs
and four foxes, near
the rattle of leafs
and the approaching morning
like in
a somnambulistic dream
They
whisper my name
The lost world
[ our,world
now lost
was born
in tomorrows
Dream, of yesterday
it,
changes
forever,
with
the birth
of tomorrow ]
a happy birthday wish, for one daisy
in the dark
of tranquillity
winter builds without an end
it howls
as it
nears the corner of tomorrow
like a wind and avalanche, furious
which
at first, builds and slowly turn
unleashed
from within
winters subtle embrace
Like touches upon your
bare skin
from the warming snow of mother earth
wind swept, free-falling
we tumble
down the flowing hills
beneath the starry skies
of northern lights
warm breath
and melting snow
embraced
something stirs inside
every falling flake
a kiss
right beneath your ear
the tingle, touched
whispers unlocked
in the
covenant of night and day
lights that
always change
But never ends
in the shadow
inside,
out
Our hot chocolate and sultry
dressed,
high priestess
we now, undress
and taste
the sensuous cup
that is life
we crave and take
delight
drink the light of sun and rays
on winters snow, the sparkling flakes and light
a sense of dew, right before the
lions roar
it turns to brightly
erupting ice
cascades that dance
upon the tip
of tongue, all wet and moist
it melts and slowly flows
across
The turning
of so many pages
a reminder of our touch
Soon to melt and stir
your dew with tongue
and fingers
as the day once more
perpetually
and without a doubt
or slightest paus
will tomorrow, rise, from that bed of night
the approaching, light
sees us
walk the meadows
of the wild, not forgotten
like the spring and winters two seasons
a snake and dragon
that gives birth
to time
our changing circle, goes, for all of life
without
outside restrictive framing
as then, and once again,
we dress, undress
and sultry bathe
in life's
graceful light
in which, we float and dance
together
by the tides of our own creek.
and so
the world of many man slowly faded
from crowded streets
of cold and grim
back to sparkling
dreamlike
canopy
Not engulfed in russet flames
But soaked in
natures velvet
fists
And nursery
The compassion
of furry beasts
and abstract, worn out
blankets of vibrant dust
and silenced colors
the sirens song
with sprouts from
Owls and Eagles
Their gratitude
that
Spread atop our emptied cities
the warming sun, of this world
With walls that long
last crumble
Beneath the tigers child that
now, roars again, at the ghosts
and ruins of absent man
Where did they go
the
Wayward Sapiens
In
that light
of this
world
our
evening walk
never ends
The Mouse In our Wall
We play in the snow, under the shooting star
Told to you, as I once told, a mind and girly soul, so beautiful.
Inside the walls of our homes, and lives. There are undraped windows through which we see both in and out, and at night I look out and up with you.
A shooting star stirs and moves the northern lights. Like a spoon through water, it moves before our eyes.
Clear as day yet slightly obfuscated through the sheets of glass, the world lay silent and it could very well be a dream as I
witness the star cut through the puffy clouds.
And at night.
Some other times, there we are, walking through life's small moments and we are holding hands.
Together, we stand outside having walked amongst the falling leafs and the subtle snow.
Rain or sunshine matters not.
Looking in, through the of night, all chilly frosty glass, the burning lamps the pleasant light and warmth that moves and lives inside.
Is it empty we ask out loud, or is there someone looking out? Back at us.
Do they hear our silent minds, can they feel our burning soul and warming hands.
In between these two sides.
Neither looking in or out. Or perhaps, they do them both all the time.
There live a gnarly little furry mouse that moves about with his love and all their friends.
At night, you can hear them talk and hug it out.
They move, play and dart around, inside and outside the walls that people build. Sometimes they walk our floors, sitting near,
our sleeping faces.
We kiss and make a cute little snowy angel. Your arms wisp around and I kiss your pretty lips, yet again.
And right there, can you believe it.
In the corner of my eye. I swear the little mice sits right nearby.
Looking out at us as we hug it out.
And perhaps he too thinks the very same. Looking out and about, at us and all the shooting stars.
The little mouse
as I once
told
a mind
so beautiful
Like the fables, that we all are dealt.
The child that was told, the lies of cloak and usurpers
misty rule
A history of obfuscated words
Behind your words and polished surface
I see what lay just beneath, the truth of you, that you sometimes hide from everybody
and yourself
I see that grain, the beauty that is truly
you, I feel its warmth no matter
others, lacking views
I tell you,
that I know
And that it is, all okay. Just the way that you really are
And all that you do
I find
Just so perfect, the way you really are
In your eyes
I see
the truth
that lay
inside
Winter sun, we meet again
Winter sun
The winds of this newborn day
Through trees comes calling
Carrying with
its parcel
a hymn of whispers
and trance-like song
That spreads like nights own mares
The winds
and
burning stars
every which evening
multiply.
Far beyond the reach
of our ephemeral
eyes
You dress before me
with hue in hair
Your eyes that speak
so warm in sunshine's
glow
Your russet waves
moved by breeze of air, on top
Your neck and limbs
petite and naked
you proudly stand
With strands of velvet hair
And soon once more
your skin is covered
In moments
like a recurring song
of parakeets
Caught entwined
While we barefoot, down
the valley
of twelve rolling hills
Make our way, through cold and wet
We march and I follow
the trees and lakes, of this drowsy dale
Until we stand
with seasons
That speak, as always
of tis sweet, their prelude
the one, that changes
Like giants of stone and trees
in splashing falls
We clap our shields with
songs of thunder
As we greet the sun of winter
this breaking day
Once more
good morning
How many suns do you see
and how many of them, are looking back
I am going to try my hardest not to dry your weary readers eyes.
And to not bore you fruity minds with another poem or long winding thoughts.
But earlier this morning (it was a morning when this happened), as I waited for the moon to shield the sun I was laying down
on my back and looking up at the hues of the pale blue that is the northern skies,
I counted the known Universe for the briefest of moments from my position on the ground outside.
And so, once done, and back home again from my hike, I could not resist writing these precious few moments down.
Because let's be honest.
Is it not entirely mind blowing how amazing life actually is?.
I am talking about the sum of it all, from the tiniest of
on going things in your personal life, to the scope of all that life holds, all the things that are real in life, all the known and unknown,
all the wondrous things that float across the universe. The things we uncover each and every moment of every day.
The joy, the smiles, the insights and the progress and vivid stuff that simultaneously make up the smallest and biggest of mundane things.
In all the obstacles that life will at times present, we also have the ever present promise of tomorrow and all that it do bring.
Yes, tomorrow, not the promised tomorrow of a thousand years, but our own present day tomorrow. You know, the day which
you will quite soon wake up too once again, in 24 hours or less.
Self driving cars, Star Wars 8 and 9, Spider man stepping inside the cinematic universe of Marvel.
That tomorrow. The one that is happening right in the now.
And while you contemplate all the things of our tomorrow. All the small daily stuff you might enjoy or merely breeze through,
such as reading the morning news while you brew a black cup of coffee, or the curating you do on your personal and brand new spotify playlist.
Remind yourself that for all of life's many faults and flaws, for all its big and small issues.
It is a wonderful and at times quite magical thing as well.
And now, let me take you on such a journey.
But do know that the following words and moments from my life, are without a doubt for adult minds alone.
October 10, morning by the lake
Our rowing boat and the white-tailed eagle, a slightly mature slice of life short story
As life progress across the expanding space that is time and the growing universe, it touches each and every one of us.
Changing us from the inside out, simultaneously and incrementally steering a continual change in both the largest and smallest of ways.
This gradual transformation caused by life and your own actual needs and healthy choices is as wonderful as it is taken for granted.
But in truly rare everyday life moments, as life reach out to touch you as you cast yourself out to enjoy the untamed and never ending
torrent that is life, something remarkable sometimes happens and in those moments you and life find yourself mixing and merging to change
the wild waters of the entire universe through that very same unilateral and symbiotic touch.
This is one such day and slightly naughty moment
For me, and you, this could have been just another day of life. And of course, that was exactly what it was, a slice of everyday life down by the lake, but it was, also and forever, a perfect day with white-tailed eagles, white swans, and seagulls that slowly rocked our old wooden boat gently down our misty lake of wonders.
It was a perfect day for the two of us, no matter how anyone else would ever slice the dice and look at life.
But as my hand reached out, as we solemnly floated by the auburn colored trees and rocks that reached out into the water I
touched your skin and slowly raised your skirt, we both smiled moments before I kissed your lips, rocking to the turning of the sea,
and inside our slowly moving boat, my fingers soon gently touched your shaved and already aching wet privates to the sound of waves and birds,
and the slowness of the warming breeze that rattled leafs and strands of hair before it seemed to eagerly help me stir your growing wetness.
As with every moment shared with you, life beneath the white-tailed eagle was made all the brighter, impossibly lush and vivid,
just by being shared with you. For within you, the power to light the very core of entire worlds flows from nothing more than you simply being you.
And so, when you shivered and quaked for the first time this day, when your wetness rushed against my fingers in a series of quaking
seismic contractions, the boat rocked just a little bit more, and the white-tailed eagle took to the sky above our heads, calling out our
names with its peculiar gong like song, and with the sound of its mighty wings and your own pleasured moaning, your physical eruptions
seemed to take a life of their own through the waves that rushed more sudden away from the boat, across the calm surface of the lake I
know it rushed across the wild waters of the universe, as I made you cum again, life was changed and made forever richer.
By breathing, living and simply being, just the way you are, you paint tongues and kisses, the color of the sky and
the motions of the rain as nature waters our garden of trees to bloom forever more bright and vivid, just by being you.
Happy birthday my October 10.
like a Lion
small cubs
and the bark of Tigers celebrating
fierce is the courage
born
from the depths of heart
black eyes and its prey
to sweet tooth and kin alike, in the dark of night
a wolf and its howling, a tale of life´s
real beauty
and, now,
all your fears
are in truth, unfolding
as but, a line of thought in the fragment of your mind
like the breaking dawn
in a room over this diner that for a while, still stands in silence, erect and waiting
like perhaps it is but a forgotten
left over
from tomorrows dream
of yesterday.
Someone always will, shake their fist at the pale
blue sky.
They cry out loud, denying, the facts of ever changing life.
Our improving reality, shaped, by all our hands and needs.
But I shake my fist up at the sky, only to marvel at the sights and sounds of life and yesterdays
light,
as it grows a
brighter tomorrow in our fields of green.
and before this day go for another walk,
I have to ask.
Is that not, the sun caressing
your skin too?
Right before, we skinny dip
like the cutest little sharks
in the breaking dawn
of chasing moons and howling wolves
A galactic family tree
In the belly of a planet, high up above us amongst the stars and icy cold radiation of infinite space a new moon took its time to be born not long ago.
Slowly gestating in the comfort and safety of it's parents giant shadow and gentle touch. While outside in the vast playground all of its much
older siblings where running around like busy little bees,
waiting for the new born arrival to break free and too shatter their parents bonds, one day joining the other 60+ siblings on the merry go round.
Yes. this is a mighty big family.
Not just in numbers, but in size and scope too.
The biggest and oldest of the children is known as Titan, a fitting name for this play ground bully that
towers mighty over the other kids with a diameter of more than 5,000km and a mass that nearly doubles that
of Earth's own Moon.
The youngest one, still to young and small for us to be entirely sure that it will ever manage to break free
from Saturn's hold and thus give birth to the planets 63 known Moon have already been given the name of Peggy.
While scientists today, of course, aren't entirely sure exactly if Saturn have managed to give birth to all of its current 63 moons
(or if there has ever been more of them in the past)
Saturn do give birth to new moons through the planetary rings of debris, dust and rocks that surround it.
And As we all spin through the Universe, the debris making up Saturn's massive and vast rings clumps further together over
time and once a new body of mass have managed to grow big enough
it slowly breaks free from the parental planetary hold and shadow by its own sheer mass, and energy that mass creates just by existing.
In the end giving birth to a new moon in our own little ever growing and changing corner of the galaxy.
Making the newest addition to the milky galaxy another ring that moves like a ripple through the calmness that is the pond we call
"the milky way galaxy", and perhaps, one day,
it will, like so many other moons harbour its very own deep oceans.
Interludes
[are best enjoyed, with the right company]
Mist laid bare, the silent veil
Tis Barefoot and naked
Through meadows of dew and grass so gentle you came, this old summers day,
you took my hand so caring
No sound was heard, nor light was seen
as your feet beneath blankets of snow carry and guide me home
for tomorrow
The ghosts of night gently bow as birds fluttery will sing
Somewhere, this, forever
holds true
The birds, they sang, about the joy of spring,
as you laid me down
While our roses grow, their bed of flowers.
white daisies and furry balls that wisp through air
The sounds of bees
Your water, my dew, sprung forth the fragrance of this
seasons
winter day
that we might, forever call
nothing. but ours,
our scent, and this day
all wet we make it, like no one else's
the fragrance
is all ours
And I close my eyes, this day too.
a little something about the Alpine Swift I wrote the foundation for in October 2013
I decided to liberate this section and give it a well-deserved home here
Because, today, with the falling snow outside, life is simply put beautiful enough to serve as the background for a short mention of one of life´s many wondrous aspects, the Alpine Swift bird.
The Alpine swift is a migrating bird that enjoys one vast home stretching over the two continents of Africa and Europe. Two vast and separated continents that the Alpine bird will insist is in truth its own singular home.
The amazing thing, mind blowing even if you ask me.
For the Alpine Swift, Europe, is the nesting place, where it breeds and enjoy life more like a normal bird.
Which I guess make Europe the Alpine Swifts bedroom and living room :P, because that is the only continent where it actually, you know.. Lands, to rest, breed and eat.
The other home, the Alpine Swift gym
Africa, the Alpine swifts other home away from home here on Earth, can best be described as it´s fit and active gym room because that is the place where it spends 6 months per year without ever landing.
Yes, as far as we know, no one in Africa will ever get to see the Alpine Swift land, neither to eat or sleep or do any kind of normal bird things resting its tiny little feets and wings down on solid ground.
Despite spending half of the year in Africa the Alpine Swift apparently never stop soaring on the currents of air.
It eats and sleeps up in air!.
How about that? Imagine running and walking non-stop for 6 months and for every hill we pass by we close our eyes and let our legs carry us downhill while we catch a short nap :).
The bird somehow manages to stay airborne for 200 straight days, feeding on aeroplankton in midair and catching naps while still in flight, and once that gigantic Crossfit challenge has been put to the test, it returns to Europe's pleasant summers, to once again take part in every day birdlife, nesting and living on ground as well as air.
For full disclosure´s sake.
No, at this point in time, it is of course not 100% possible to say that some Alpine Swift´s never, ever lands even just for a minute or two while spending it´s six months in flight vacation time in Africa. It could very well be that a sick or exhausted Alpine Swift bird do land. That would not shock me.
But, so far in life, not a single Alpine Swift have been found, even once, to touch down on a tree branch or the ground while in Africa, not even for a single moment.
And that to me, is quite a mind blowing feat :).
So from me to you, have a wonderful rest of your day.
Enjoy it, love and live it and marvel at it all, no matter the height of your mountains or the depth of the surging sea, life is your art, so live it.
this is
our own tale of dewy good mornings
Coffee beans soon
be grinded
Fresh and vital,
the swirl
Of mornings slow aroma
Like a gentle unfolding
haze, it soon comes to life,
In every corner, to touch
our endless sky, which
we painted blue last
nights evening
I breathe you in,
The scent of dew that rise and fall
your naked limbs,
sultry, petite
You are, like life
Free, from form, perfected
motion,
And
Now, here you lay, right next to me
With the sun and the moon and the
wolves that follow
Grace like, vibrant
Your breath, soon
turn, the fabric, of my every
world
Here. You sleep
like winter, and summer
deep, but never not
full of life
Sculpted nails, and strands
of bed head hair
Something so
paramount and sexual, about your very being
Your eyes, flutter
Now open, with a smile, so
Eager, knowing, and
Not at all a string of
questions, I slowly
Touch, your neck
and shoulders, with my
Tongue and lips
I now find your
Every
eager treasure
Our own scent
soon meet, and mix
With the fleeting tide
Of rimfaxes, falling dew
and the color of this mornings
day
Soon, on the outskirts
Of what is now, our creation, there remain
but a moving sea
of grass and trees
And now, we are
Like Audhumbla, giving birth
to countless worlds, with every taste
of our skin
and tongues colliding
Wolves & their stories from my world
Inside my own realm of
life capricious, so fleeting, and shapes
of proud
people
that walk like Vikings
The ones that never left, our world
from eons past
And tomorrows day, these things
that still hold
their shape and form in a sea of wild storms and
withered souls
We grow
Like fleeting mist around the base
of mountains so cold, that becomes
A giant that up from his knees rise
from the deep blue
to stand and climb the towering worlds
I can now see, the shapes of trees
Across the water
Slow it crawls, across our field
of view
We near the shore
until soon
without a sound
tomorrows land becomes
this day too
The common cyborg, 2028AD is a short stand alone sci-fi story from my near future book universe 2028AD,
to go with my queen of forest snails photo.
She had been almost dormant, for 12 years. Locked down inside a sheltered room in New York's most respected private hospital. But last night she finally opened her eyes again.
Not the way you and me open our eyes to the world each morning, not with pupils dilating as they let the streams of light inside our synapses and wondrous neurons.
Light from artificial screens and windows bursting with luminescence from the sun outside did not touch her mind and eyes in that way.
No, her eyes did not even open, not just yet.
Not the way you imagine them to open.
Her body would keep adapting for years to the shock of being jolted back to a conscious waken state from its dormant veggie like dwelling.
But she did see the world now, her mind was clear and wide awake, oh the sounds she could hear for the first time in so many years. They pounced against the finer strands of hair on her body, head, and ears.
And the things her mind was flooded with, the visuals of an entire world came rushing against her like a torrent of white waters hurling down the greatest fall.
Sensors from the drones and the phone that was now all hers, and all the smart wifi-enabled gadgets in her vicinity already communicated directly with her brain. The damage done by the combination of her accident and amyotrophic lateral sclerosis was now gone.
And so, she was seeing the entire room, and all the people inside of it.
The Neural Engineering System Design kept feeding her synaptic nerves with strikingly vivid visuals and her entire surroundings lit up like a Christmas tree inside her neurological pathways.
And on the down low, behind it all, words kept whispering to her, words and videos, a stream of media from the hospital network kept being processed by her own digital AI assistant, laid out like a perfect dish in the sparse and rustic kitchen only she could see inside her own mind.
She was making tea with her assistant now, splendid, gorgeous tea. And the scent of it wet her taste buds, and she knew without a doubt that it would taste utterly divine once it was done.
But the world was silent, she tried to get her assistant to turn on her favorite Spotify playlist, but to no avail.
The people in her room kept pointing to the digitized floor to ceiling wall where the OLED tapestry slowly displayed a walk through a lush, arctic landscape. A woman to her right touched the wall and said, 'can you hear us'?.
'If you can, can you say hello. Or something.'
Minutes passed as the assistant kept talking to her.
Informing her of her own medical situation, the rejuvenating work the 're youth' blood plasma breakthrough had started doing on her liver, mind and lean muscle mass, and how the neurons that had failed her 18 years ago would continue adapting and integrating her entire body with her new and connected life.
It talked to her about the weather, her extended family, the hospital and DARPA, the neural cyber network implant inside her mind which translated the visuals and data-transfer bandwidth between the human brain and every connected technological device in her own vicinity.
It talked to her about the hospital she was staying at, the team of doctors that had worked on her. She got to know them all, even neuroscientist Andrew Schwartz from the University of Pittsburgh who had pioneered some of the breakthroughs that had led to this day.
The AI gave a brief description of how Trump had derailed the world's climate change work with global catastrophic results as the outcome, and it talked to her about the bio-organic WiFi and nanobots inside of her.
And beneath the womans fingers, the arctic walk came to a halt in front of a majestic emperor penguin.
Characters slowly typed started to appear on the wall, right to her finger.
"I..", was followed by a several minute long pause, before in a fluid stream the font changed in both size and type and place as it simultaneously spat out.
.... "Spotify, they, you, god damn, unblock the firewall, I want my music!."
The entire room started laughing, 'welcome, welcome' ' oh my god, she is awake', laughter and a bubbly emotional wave raptured inside the room, someone cried, someone laughed, someone almost collapsed into a chair from the immense relief.
They had made it.
scanty clad, and happy hearted
spring is in the air
Scanty clad and happy hearted
full of life we venture
down the halls of wayward
greens and pale blue space
with hosts of leafs and auburn gowns
fair and stately
Amongst
The haunted reefs
our naked limbs
soon dressed by naught
entwined
Pleasured, touches
Beneath
the falling of the setting sun
With our whispers
it slowly paints
these Sandy shores
I take your hand
so fine and sculpted
down to the water
still receding
Moving, growing
Down your hair
And skin, the water
trail
your naked bosom
cheek and chin, I kiss and drink
the pearls that flow
from
your hollow
Deep inside
something
soon will stir and crumble
out in water
there are rifts now moving
inside
out, we are
but mind and body
As I touch your
delicious wet
Again, it trembles
the warmth
& pleasure of
Our
being
We merge this wave
and take a fall through air
Upon this
wind we now ride
and
now you shiver
With our kiss
Of ice and fierce
wet,
warm passion
Back
into
the open sea and sirens whaling
I guide you down this deep
the final crest
our happy hearts
a willows creek so scanty clad.
a Norse View Imaging and Publishing
established 2013
Copyright 2017
a Norse View, Mike Koontz
Tales from Winters Realm, Book 2, Photography, words from life, and Whimsical stuff by Mike Koontz.
Thank you for reading.
Author and fine art photography
Mike Koontz
To the daisy that is my sun and inspiration
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