Erik and his Pipe - Vacation Special - Sparkling Blend in the Forest

Описание: A walk to a familiar hill, the steady comfort of a pipe, and the quiet sound of rain in the trees. A simple morning that invites reflection and peace.

Thank you for sharing your time with me today and Thanks for watching!


▬ SUBSCRIBE ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Click here: https://bit.ly/3WeK2VC
and subscribe to this channel

#coffeeandapipe #coffee #pipe #relax #ontspannen #pijp #koffie #ytpc


▬ SUPPORT ME ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Support me with a ko-fi:
↪ https://ko-fi.com/eriksol


▬ THE STORY ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

↪ This is the story in my video:

A Walk Beneath the Clouds

The morning had a quiet stillness to it, the kind that makes every sound feel clearer. The air carried the cool scent of damp earth, and above me the sky was layered in soft shades of grey. It was not a day that called for urgency. It was a day that asked only for a slow pace, for the simple act of walking.

I decided to set out along the sandy path at the edge of the forest. Perhaps I was only looking for an excuse to light my pipe somewhere quiet, though I already knew exactly where I would want to do that. The path stretched straight ahead, a pale line pressed flat by countless footsteps, with the darker green of the trees leaning close on one side and open space stretching on the other.

Before long, the trail led me toward what I have always thought of as the high hill. It rises from the forest itself, and though I do not know its exact history, I have always imagined that sand was once taken from here. The result is a hollowed shape, an open place where the land curves inward, its steep face long since softened and covered with moss, grasses, and wild growth. It was a familiar place, and it seemed to wait for me as I approached.

A narrow path rose along the ridge, almost hidden in places by tall grasses and clusters of blueberry bushes, and I followed it upward. The climb was gentle at first, then a little steeper as I reached the side where roots had broken through the soil, making natural steps. At the top, the space opened into a kind of plateau. The trees still circled me, but here at the center was a clear patch where the ground leveled out, and it was there I chose to sit.

There was no tree above me for shelter, but I did not mind. I unpacked my pipe and the round tin of Sparkling Blend, filled the bowl carefully, and struck a match. The flame flickered in the soft breeze before settling into the steady glow of ember. Slowly, deliberately, I drew in the first smoke and let it drift out into the cool air.

From that height, the view stretched far across the Werder, the land lying open along the Elbe. When I was younger, during holidays here, I would climb this hill to look out across the border into the DDR. The slope was less overgrown then, and the sense of gazing into a land that could not be reached gave the view a quiet thrill. Now, many years later, the border is gone, the hill has grown thicker with trees and shrubs, and the excitement of that distant boundary has faded. Yet the view remains beautiful, and it still carries the calm weight of distance.

I remained there for some time, the smoke curling around me, thoughts drifting without order. After a while, I felt the first droplets of rain touch my hands. They were light, scattered, but steady enough to remind me that I had no cover where I sat. I rose, pipe still glowing, and began my way back down the slope.

The path continued along the forest’s edge, and before long I came upon a wooden bench. It stood beneath the spread of several tall trees whose leaves caught the rain before it could fall through. Grateful for the shelter, I sat and struck another match to bring my pipe back to life. The rhythm of lighting it again was as calming as the smoke itself, and soon I was leaning back against the bench, watching the shifting pattern of the branches overhead.

The view here was modest, yet pleasant in its own way. A glimpse of the village lay ahead, with farmland stretching out in patches, and to the right tall rows of maize rose high enough to block much of the distance. Beyond the road that crossed the fields there was little more to see, the horizon hidden away. It was a humbler perspective than from the hilltop, yet it matched the quiet of the rain and the steady comfort of the pipe in my hand.

By then the rain showed no sign of stopping, and I decided it was time to return to the small house where I was staying. There was no disappointment in leaving, only a sense of quiet acceptance. Some things, like the weather, are beyond any effort to change, and there is no reason to worry over them. The morning had given me what it could, and that was enough.

Take your time, this moment is yours.