Spring has almost fully transformed into summer

Surrounding us rhododendron bushes stand tall as trees

We find ourselves in the midst of an enormous forest

Twined branches closing in, all covered in thick green leaves


Before us points a large flower sprout

Slowly it blossoms, as if a day passes in a second

Shortly the majestic petals are fully out

And we begin to glide forward above the rigid ground


Season alters into autumn, therefore displaying

Brambles stretching uncontrolled towards the skies

Our pace slows down as we are approaching

The forest edge, where an empty road lies


Landscape still covered in early morning haze

The vanilla sky restraining the sunbeams blaze


An old man appears at the opposite roadside

Behind him buildings in a far distant fade in grey

With a sack on his back and a machete firmly in his hand

He stares determined over the deserted highway


Gazing at the woodland rising at the opposite border

Awaiting his arrival with great anticipation

Half way over endless black tar a large truck approaches

His limbs freeze in a position of motion


Above its horrid grille in chrome, top front lights stare

Flashing up the old man’s face as he looks at it in terror

Like a Cyclops pitch-black eye the windshield glare

The old man makes a final spurt for the roadside in horror


Truck passes, making the wind twirl with an extreme force

Grazing his back, he’s safe but not without remorse


The sound of bird twitters is all that is remaining

An impenetrable wall rises behind him

Towards the blue heavens coarse brambles are aiming

On twisted bushes growing unyielding

Leaves and withering flowers are desperately clinging


Suddenly a small bird beside him stands so strangely

It tilts its head observing him curiously

Feathers black as a summers night

And beak so yellowish bright


Raising the machete, he makes his way into the woodland

Leaving a narrow opening of snipped branches behind


The bird flies through the opening where the man is working

Passing over his right shoulder and mounting

Over the forest roof the bird is now gracefully gliding

Everlasting the shrubbery beneath seems growing


On a horizontal branch the bird is soon landing

A large caterpillar carefree comes strolling

Rapidly the birds’ beak is swiftly striking

Squirming in the fatal grip the caterpillar is hanging


The bird remains still, blinking its pointy eyes, staring

Suddenly the bird flies away

As the branch underneath, him is falling


Emerging out from the bushes is the old man’s face

Dripping of sweat and with a tiresome gaze


Behind him lies a small clearing

Where twined rhododendron bushes are encircling

Out from untouched shrubbery stretching

Towards the centre where he is standing


That night under a pitch-black sky

The old man is about to fry

Tasty beans in front of a campfire

That gleams up the surrounding bushes

Making the rest of the forest

Hide in complete darkness


Before long the bird is appearing

Sitting behind him once again, staring

The old man severs a bit of bread that lies beside him

Pleasantly observing while the bird is eating


Midday sun rise high up in the bluish atmosphere

Almost hinting the rush-hour traffic but not very clear

We glide along the outer fringe, seeking for a way inside

Shortly moving through the bushes, searching until we find


The old man still working and trimming

Surrounded by severed twigs, he seems weary

Not far from him the bird is landing

Its beak piercing the soil all suddenly

Pulling out the end of a long earthworm so joyfully


The bird struggles to get it all out from the ground

As the earthworm lets go the bird falls on its behind

When standing the bird pompously looks around


As out of the blue a branch suddenly falls

Startled the bird flinches before it recalls

The man who’s so eagerly working

His way through the forest, now disappearing

Twigs falling, leaves’ rattling is all we’re hearing


But shortly nothing but a tense silence is remaining


We find the old man squatting

Staring down in wonder he’s pondering

He has found something, something he’s not expecting

Carefully moving the branches, one at a time exposing


A red motorcycle, still relatively complete

Beside some minor dents and rust

He explores this strange finding, clearly so obsolete

Decades’ passing after its arrival is a must


The bird begins to search for bugs hiding

Within the cracks, now fleeing from its sharp beak

Caterpillars, spiders and beetles are crawling

Out in terror as the bird with its pointy mouth seek


The old man emerges once again into the forest, disappearing

Behind him on top of the motorcycle the bird is still hunting

After a short period, the old man come to a standstill

Yet another discovery seems to lie before him


Only a few feet away raise an enormous tree

Among its flourishing shrubbery

Distinguishing this one from the rest, he can see

The shadow of a dark figure hanging heavily

Stretched over branches, thick as they could ever be


Intrigued the old man carefully approaches

Moving aside the last branch that covers

Bright sunlight is now presenting

The truth about what hides before him


The dark figure being the motorcycles owner

Body dressed in a slim leather garment

Completely intact and helmet still on

With the black visor, slightly dismantled

We can almost hint the mummified cranium


The bird sits down close to where the body dangles

Motionless the old man gape at the rigid cadaver

With a contemplating expression, he ponders


When feeling the birds intense stare

He shrugs with a deep sigh

Reaching a conclusion, he won’t even try

Instead cutting his way into the forest, leaving it all behind


The bird flaps its feathery wings and flies off

The old man visible amongst the bushes working

Dead owner still dangling in the tree and not far from it

Inside thick shrubbery the motorcycle is resting


The bird glides over the rhododendron greenery

Speed picking up while slowly rising and we so clearly see

The tar-covered street surrounding the forest

And we understand so perfectly


That everything took place inside an enormous roundabout

It sure makes one wonder why no one ever sort out

The reason for that crash and why

That owner was never found in all this time


Written by Alex Backstrom

Year of Creation: 2009

Based on a story by Miriam Bäckström from Anonymous Interviews





The spring has almost fully transformed itself into summer
when we find ourselves in the midst of an enormous forest
of rhododendron bushes. Some as tall as trees, all covered
in thick, green leaves.
Before us, a large flower bud is slowly blossoming, as if a
whole day passed within seconds.
As the flower is then fully exposed with its majestic
petals glowing of deep purple, we begin to move forwards --
-- Hovering above the rigid ground, surrounded by twined
branches, thick foliage and an endless sea of flowers with
colours shifting in pink, white and purple.
As we keep moving through the bushes in a slow pace, summer
turns into autumn, flowers withers, leaves falls towards
the ground, leaving the brambles exposed stretching
uncontrolled towards the sky.
As we approach the fringe of the forest we slow down our
pace, and halts as we exit. Finding ourselves --
-- Staring out over a wide and empty road. The morning mist
still lays heavily on the landscape and the vanilla sky
prevents the impenetrable rays of sunlight to gleam.
Shortly at the opposite side of the road, an OLD BUFFER
dressed in a red flannel shirt, an unshaved face and short
greyish hair, steps up to the roadside.
On his back he carries a rucksack and has a firm grip of a
large hedge cutter in his left hand.
With a melancholy but yet determined expression the Old
Buffer stares out over the deserted road, gazing over at
the rhododendron forest rising from the opposite side.
Behind him, buildings in a far distant arise from the
sphere, fading in grey.
The Old Buffer keeps staring towards the forest of
rhododendron that awaits his arrival with great
So with heavy steps, he begins to cross the street. While
walking on the seemingly endless black tar, he listens
carefully for approaching vehicles.
Suddenly his limbs freeze, as if still in a position of
motion. He has heard something not yet visible, a subdued
Around the forest bend, bright beam lights shines over the
bushes. The Old Buffer, half way a cross, picks up his
A huge TRUCK becomes visible, top front lights flash up his
face as he stares towards it in terror. The truck hauls a
long trailer and in the front is a horrid grille in chrome.
And as a Cyclops pitch-black eye, the front windshield
stares back at him.
The Old Buffer makes a final spurt for the roadside and
shortly the Truck passes behind him, almost brushing
against his rucksack. Making the wind whirl with an extreme
force and dead leaves gets caught in the draft.
Out of breath the Old Buffer, safely at the roadside,
watches almost offended towards the Truck as it disappears
around the other bend.
Nothing but silence and a vague twittering from birds
within the forest remains.
The Old Buffer turns towards the forest edge behind him,
still gripping the hedge cutter in his hand.
As an impenetrable wall the bushes grows in uncontrolled
twines and as serpents, coarse branches twist themselves
around each other.
The brambles stretch high above his head like skyscrapers
aiming for the sky. Some of the leaves and withering
flowers still cling to them in desperation.
Suddenly the Old Buffer notices a BIRD with feathers as
black as coal and a beak as bright as a sun-tanned orange,
standing on a rock beside him, tilting its head while
observing him curiously.
The Old Buffer once again focuses on the brambles before
him, searching for a way in. Raises his cutter and starts
to trim the branches as he with calculated steps begins to
moves into the forest.
The Bird observes as the Old Buffer disappears, leaving a
narrow opening of snipped branches behind.
A continuing sound of BRUSHWOOD BEING CUT, BREAKING OFF and
FALLING is audible in the distant.
The Bird starts flapping its wings, takes of and flies
through the narrow opening where the Old Buffer is working.
It passes over his right shoulder and then flies up over
the forest roof, gracefully gliding over the seemingly
endless shrubbery.
One of the thick, coarse branches stretches horizontally
before us. A few persistent leaves and dead flowers cling
to it.
In the distant we can detect a low hum of the afternoon
TRAFFIC set in motion.
Shortly a large CATERPILLAR comes strolling, carefree down
the branch. In lingering moves it makes its way towards the
outer end, aiming for one of the remaining leaves.
Then, as out of the blue, the Bird’s orange beak strikes in
a swift move and the Caterpillar is caught, wriggling in
the fatal grip.
The Bird sits on the branch above and now returns to its
upright position, Caterpillar still hanging in his beak.
The Bird maintains still, staring and blinking its pointy
eyes as the Caterpillar squirms.
But before long, the branch, which the Bird is sitting on,
is suddenly cut of. The Bird then flaps its wings intensely
and flies away.
Emerging out from the bushes, the Old Buffer’s face
dripping of sweat, stares straight at us with tiresome
Surrounded by newly trimmed branches pointing, the Old
Buffer wipes of his forehead with the sleeve of his flannel
Behind him lies a small clearing, soil covered with twigs,
and twined rhododendron bushes stretches out above the
The Old Buffer putts down the rucksack beside him, opens it
and takes out a frying pan along with a can of beans.
Under a pitch-black sky with sparkling stars, a campfire
gleams up the forest edge that rises around the clearing.
Making the twined rhododendron bushes cast long shadows
over the twig covered ground.
The rest of the forest hides in complete darkness.
In the centre of the small clearing, the Old Buffer is
making dinner in front of the fire. He’s gripping the
frying pan, filled with creamy brown beans in one hand, and
in the other, a spoon that he uses to stir.
He leans over the beans, inhaling deeply through his nose,
sniffing the aroma. He then takes out a piece of bread from
the rucksack next to him. Sever a bit and dips it into the
buttery beans, eating it slowly with a satisfying grin.
But it doesn’t take long until he realizes that he’s not
alone. He glances over his shoulder and sees the Bird
standing on the ground behind him, staring.
The Bird makes a few neat hops. Now standing a bit closer
to the Old Buffer, it gives out a vague CRAX.
The Old Buffer breaks of a smaller piece from the bread and
hands it to the Bird.
Suspiciously the Bird stares at him, then down at the bread
in his hand, and then back at the Old Buffer with
questioningly tilting its head.
The Bird makes three more hops towards him, taking the
bread from his hand. Swallows it quickly and hops back a
The Old Buffer turns away and continues eating his beans
when he suddenly hears another CRAX behind him. There, the
Bird stares at him, waiting.
The Old Buffer hands the Bird yet another piece of bread,
this one fairly larger.
The Bird takes it and the Old Buffer observes at the Bird
begins to struggle, tearing smaller pieces from the chunk
of bread with its beak.
Hovering close above the forest roof we can see one side
being neatly trimmed and the other still rough and uneven.
Its midday and we can hint the roadside with its rush-hour
traffic. Slowly we begin to move along the outer fringe of
the forest, gliding close to the brambles.
Shortly we seek our way in through the wall of
rhododendron, and moves through the bushes, searching.
Until --
-- We see the Old Buffer working, trimming between the
branches, surrounded by cut off twigs.
He’s worn and tired. A few days have passed and his beard
stubble is clearly rougher. He scratches his chin and then
continues cutting amongst the bushes.
Not far from the Old Buffer is the Bird standing on the
ground looking down while tilting its head.
Suddenly it pierces the soil with its beak and pulls out
the end of a long EARTHWORM. The other end of the Earthworm
is still in the ground, unwilling to let go.
The Bird struggles, almost tipping backwards as it pulls
harder. Finally the Earthworm lets go and the Bird falls on
its behind and flaps its wings to get up.
When standing, the Bird pompously looks around, Earthworm
hanging from its beak, still touching the ground with both
As out of the blue a branch suddenly falls down next to the
Bird. Startled it flinches, looks up and sees the Old
Buffer working above him.
Annoyed, the Bird CRAX several times, staring up at the Old
Buffer trying to show his disapproval. But the Old Buffer
ignores the Bird.
Instead the Old Buffer continues making his way through the
thick forest. The Bird observes him, makes a few hops after
the Old Buffer who disappears amongst the branches.
Clear sounds of him CUTTING, TWIGS FALLING and LEAVES
RATTLING is audible as we stares towards the area where he
But then, it all becomes quiet and there’s nothing
remaining then a tense silence.
The Old Buffer squats over a short shrub. His face is
filled with a pondering wonder as he stares down into it.
He has found something, something not expected.
As the Old Buffer begins to cut amongst the thick foliage
the Bird curiously approach behind him, with neat hops.
The Old Buffer slowly moves the cut-off branches,
carefully, one at a time exposing --
It’s still relatively complete, besides some minor dents
and a broken beam light.
Mainly covered in rust and moss the Old Buffer can still
read the licence plate on its back wheels fender;
Discovering that it has been there for at least a couple of
While the Old Buffer continues exploring this strange
object, the Bird jumps up on top of the Motorcycle and
begins searching for bugs, hiding within the cracks.
Fleeing from its sharp beak, Caterpillars, Spiders and
Beetles, crawl out from their holes in terror.
As the Bird tries to snag one of them, the Old Buffer rise
up, grabs on to his hedge cutter, takes a broad step over
the Motorcycle and disappears into the forest.
The Old Buffer makes his way through the brambles with his
cutter. A couple of feet behind him we can hint the Bird,
still on top of the Motorcycle, hunting for insects.
After a short period of trimming the Old Buffer suddenly
halts. Branches close shut behind him as he squint his
eyes, trying to see clearer what lies ahead.
Another discovery seems to hide inside the bushes.
Only a few feet in front of him, raises an enormous
rhododendron tree. Branches are as thick as a vacuum hose
and roots too big for the ground, instead arching out
through its surface.
Amongst the flourishing foliage, that distinguishes this
tree from the rest, a shadow of a concealed dark figure is
hanging heavily on top of the branches.
Intrigued, the Old Buffer approaches the tree and when the
last branch, that keeps him from fully see what hides
ahead, moves aside, the bright sunlight enlightens the dark
figure and we can see that it in fact is --
-- The OWNER of the Motorcycle.
The body, dressed in a slim leather garment, is intact and
helmet still on. The black visor is pulled down but as one
corner is missing we can almost hint the mummified skull
Flying, The Bird approaches and sits down on a branch next
to where the Owner’s body dangles.
The Bird glances over at the body then at the Old Buffer
who motionless and with a contemplating expression, stares
at the rigid body.
Feeling the Bird staring at him he turns towards it.
Pondering they stare at each other and the Old Buffer
shrugs with a deep sigh.
He walks away, passing the tree, cutting his way into the
The Bird gives out a CRAX, flaps his black feathery wings
and takes of towards the sky.
The Old Buffer is noticeable down amongst the bushes,
working. The dead Owner dangles in the large tree and not
far from it, the old Motorcycle rests on its side in the
thick shrub.
The Bird keeps moving, gliding over the roof of
rhododendron bushes. Speed picking up while slowly rising
higher and higher until --
We clearly see the tar-covered road, surrounding the
forest, and we understand perfectly that everything that
has happened took place inside an enormous --
-- Roundabout!