och nu är hon här. nu skriver hon här. för så klart är hon med mig.
morgon-baderskan. dagboks-skriverskan.
när lilla musan släpper blusen på stranden och havet slår
upp över fötterna och vi glömmer bort allt annat.
då överlämnar vi oss. då flyter vi.
kärlek,
h
shoot : fira s/s14 mermaid life
model :
lina lindholm | hair & mua : belinda stigborn
dress, shorts, belt & jewelry :
fira s/s 14
birds of a feather bone necklace :
LW s/s14 : coming soon
words on vintage paper :
mermaid lyrics | yuna
all images : © hannah lemholt photography
the beautiful feather is hand drawn by
sara //
i remember her so well.
that girl who would turn fourteen come autumn.
she who, on early early summer mornings,
before anyone else had wakened, before the world was even awake it seemed,
- would walk down barefoot to the beach, in just her kimono.
how she waded out naked and then just lay there, floating,
blinking water at the sky, as the sun rose.
that girl was me.
i remember her more clearly than others of my guises.
i remember those moments more clearly than many other parts of life.
she did many things no one knew about. only for herself.
maybe that’s why it sometimes feels as if she’s still there,
why i remember it all so clearly. because she was so self-evident.
as if i were to go there now, to that tranquil beach,
to the house we lived in, with 450 steps to the ocean.
then she would be waiting there for me.
you must be able to float, hannah. sure, swimming is a good thing.. but above all, you have to be able to float. mom always said when i was a child, younger than the morning bather.
to float is to surrender. to float first. then to love, she said.
one can not exist without the other.
and so i floated.
and it was just that.. to surrender.
to silently, naked, wade out into the water until i no longer
could reach the bottom, until everything was cool and subdued.
to sink, being encased by water.
and then to rise to the surface. to stay there, in boundary country;
open your eyes right in between sea & air, with water hanging
like raindrops in the lashes and like a crocodile, glide unnoticed.
to let go of the body until the toes turn up too,
and then just soar there, on your back, weightless.
live this weightless tranquility. always. live this ripple of the surface. breathe, floating the calm waters. but follow the waves once they come. towards land. the thirteen year old wrote in her diary.
and now she's here. now she writes here.
because of course she is
with me.
the bather of mornings. the writer of so many diaries.
when my little muse drops the blouse down on the sand,
the waves crashes over our calfs and we forget everything else.
then we surrender ourselves. then we float.
x,
h