Next time you say January is a dull and grey month, think back to this post and these photos!
There is adventure, even in the bleakest January days. This is now proven. See for yourself…
It’s completely silent. The sun has yet to rise. January’s cold stings my cheeks as I crawl into the car. With me, I have my camera and tripod. The car coughs a little as I start it, and I hope I don’t wake Sebastian and Peter. My only mission now is to reach Kalø Castle Ruin before daylight breaks. I feel a flicker of anxiety about driving in the dark, nibbling at my stomach. I let the fear be, turn on the headlights, press the pedal, and point my nose toward my homeland: Mols.
I long for Mols. Always. If not every second, then only because I suppress the yearning. My childhood land. My refuge. My sanctuary.
There’s something special about Mols. The scent of juniper. The salted wind. The crunch of dry branches and the yellow gorse. The smell of sheep and their still-greasy, uncombed wool. But it’s more than that. Something intangible drifts into me the closer I get.
This time, I make it only to its ankle – the beginning of Mols, Kalø Castle Ruin. The sun is nothing more than a pale, milky streak hovering above the peninsula. I step out into the cold and begin capturing moments of this January morning. Moments of what I long for so deeply. So I can take them home with me. Look at them. And remember.
Here’s a glimpse of what I captured on this beautiful January morning.



As the minutes pass and the sun begins to burn through the mist, the colors start to change. From soft pastels, the contrast deepens, the shadows grow darker, and the hues turn more golden. Here, I look toward the mainland from the peninsula.

I wasn’t the only one who had found my way out into the cold January morning. At first, it was hard to spot one another. But as the light gained strength, a few fellow lovers of the morning sun appeared.


After witnessing nature light up in gold and golden hues, the light shifted to cooler tones. It was as if we had turned north, and the Nordic shades took hold of the sea and small streams. The ice softened, but its color grew colder. It felt like looking out over a Greenlandic fjord in miniature.


How many colors has Kalø Castle Ruin not worn? How many have stood here, gazing in admiration at the centuries-old stones as they shifted through one palette after another?
The wildest and grandest thought of all is this: How many will stand here in the future, in the same place, on the same January morning?

