Coffee and a Little Story

The hustle and bustle of the restaurant around them camouflaged their struggle to converse.  Though at the same time the missing words were building a deafening silence between them, which seemed to spread an uncomfortable tension through the place.  The waitstaff that came and took their coffee order pursed their lips and stood up straighter than usual when facing him.  As if scared that he would shout or perhaps that he wouldn't say anything to them at all, either.  A woman sat to his right, also sitting much straighter than one would think was usual, tensing her buttocks and pursing her lips.  She held her water glass with two hands, analysing the small amount of water in it.  Swirling it around, tipping it from side to side, and then finally looking up, eyes pleading for a waiter or waitress to come over to pour some more water.  Anything to interrupt the now almost five minutes since she had uttered some words she had struggled to string together as an answer to his interrogation.  After a couple more arduous minutes, she gulped down the last mouthful of water in her glass in one grand motion, smacking the glass back onto the rough wooden table.  At the same time, finding the courage to turn her body towards him, she looked at him - directly - stared at him - at his face - that face.  He was sat there.  Staring back at her.  Judging, though looking satisfied with the situation and generally pleased with himself.  His black coffee sent steam trailing through the air into his moderately larger sized nostrils, that flared slightly as he inhaled the familiar earthy scent.  An animalistic grunt came from deep within his throat that sent his belly bouncing.  It could have been a cough of course, only he was smacking his lips and looking down at the uncertain but determined woman in front of him.  The deep grunt was a clear exertion of his power over the situation, and over her.  She continued to stare at his face, rather shocked and still unable to add anything to their essentially non-existant conversation.  His moustache was a lawn that had been cut with those big, old grass shears.  Roughly chopped dry grass one could say.  And it didn't seem to start or stop anywhere.  The rugged, messy array of thick, slightly red spikes of hair continued from his upper lip into his nostrils, down around his chin and around his neck, and were even poking out of his ears.  She sat there for a few more moments, praying for someone to interrupt them, shuffling a little in her seat, before finally stating "I'll get you a piece of cake to go with the coffee."  This allowed her to get up from that darned chair, slowly wander over to the counter and dart into the ladies room, where she was immediately faced with the tempting option to toss her handbag out the window, hoist up her dress and rather clumsily climb out after it.  She stood there for a moment, staring at her reflection in the mirror, a slightly bewildered look on her petite, pale face, unsure of what to do.

~

Veins

I feel cold blooded sometimes.  When the wind growls in my ears and the icy air raises bumps on my skin, and when shivers pass through my body.  "Someone just walked over your grave."  And when I start to dream of the sun.  The bright, piercing sun.  It's the lie we hide from.  A finger pointed, following you wherever you go.  We cover ourselves with clothes and sun cream.  Keeping in the shade, staying in doors.  It beats down.  Threatening to cut through.  Can't even look at it.  Arm raised, eyes squinted.  It's the truth.  The sun.  But then sometimes I feel cold blooded.  Lying on the road like that brown snake.  Soaking up heat leftover from a summer's day.  So lazy.  Unphased by anything else.  Drunk and dazed in the heat, absorbing.  Drowning and desperate to feel warm.  Cold body.  Cold heart.  Cold veins.  Veins.  I look to the mangled trees above me, their branches reaching out.  A cobweb.  Weaving between each other all reaching for the sun.  If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can feel my heart beating in all of the little corners of my body.  Heart beating.  But you know, sometimes I feel cold blooded.  Icy.  Heart growling and shivers passing through me.  "Someone just walked over your grave."  She would always say.  And then, on hot days she would sit and eat frozen oranges in the shade of a tree.  Drowning in pleasure and exhaustion.  Just like the brown snake lying on the road that day.  Just like the brown snake.  ~

Australian Summer Nights

They pull up at the lookout to take some time out of the drive, appreciating the light.  The ocean has a metalic shine from the whisps and washes of colour and clouds in the sky.  The air is warm, no hint of a cool change yet.  A cigarette lit, hanging from mouth.  Scratching of an arm as sweat beads and slides down back of neck.  The crack and chink of a bottle top flicked off, dropping onto the hot asphalt, tinkering as it bounces before rolling under the car.  The smell of apples tickle and fizz, glass cool to touch.  There are no sounds, really.  The occasional car speeds past, headlights drowning the scene for a second.  No one else stops.  The night is warm and still.  No breeze.  Just the faint and distant hum or rumble of the small waves breaking on the beach below.  The sky stretches out forever.  Cigarette butt joins bottle cap on asphalt, empty bottle placed on fence post.  A marker of territory?  "We were here.  And we drank."  Doors slam.  The thick summer night dampens the sound of their engine roaring as they drive off into the night, further along the winding Great Ocean Road.

Inner City Living - København

Everyone lives in apartments.  The city is small, space is scarce.  No one has a garden.  Instead they hang little pot plants from their balconies and out of their windows.  The restricted space forces creativity.  Parties in bunkers and churches.  No garden to lay in, pushes people out of their four walls.  When the sun shines it isn't thought peculiar to lie in the old cemetery, among the graves.  I sun baked and studied next to a Marie Christensen just the other day.  We had a great chat.  She died in 1875 and was buried with her sister.  I wondered if she was insulted by my premiscuous sunbathing, but soon forgot about it.  A "mother's group" had a picnic nearby, and small toddlers waddled around the grave stones.  
             A city so small and confined.  Restricted and conservative.  Stern and serious.  Yet now that Winter is somewhat happily forgotten, an energy has returned.  Eyes open, nuerons moving and people laugh in the streets.  We are like plants, when the sun is removed we wilt.  Bring it on: bring on Summer.  Let's sing and throw our arms to the sky.  Run as fast as you can and meet me at the ice cream shop.  Coconut.  Pistachio.  Vanilla.  Let's sip rose swinging our legs dangling above the canal below.  Let's spin and spin and spin until we're dizzy and the lights go blurry.  Show me how you dance, wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen.  <3

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow.

He picks a flower and thinks of her.  Brings it to his nose; it doesn't smell all that nice.  Just a thick scent of pollen that makes it hard to breathe.  The petals fall off all too easily and he lets it fall to the ground.  He picks another one, more careful this time.  He picks a little bunch.  His hands are rough and he struggles with this delicate work.  Petals continue to fall to the ground and he gives up all together.  Instead, he takes out his phone and takes a picture.  Snap.  He captures the colour and continues walking.  Yellow yellow yellow.  He thinks.  Yellow yellow yellow.  Her bikini was yellow.  She runs across the beach, laughing.  Playing, kicking sand at each other, sand sticking to her sunscreen sticky legs.  Her strong legs as she danced around.  They laughed together and he chased her into the water.  Yellow sand.  Yellow bikini.  Yellow sun.  It shone down making sweat shine on his forehead.  His cheeks were red and arms burning.  Under the water he opened his eyes.  Small fish passed him by.  Unphased by his presence they danced around the seaweed.  He looked around and made for her.  Grasping those legs with his rough hands as she kicked out.  Gasping for breath he rose out of the water and bundled her up in a big embrace.  His arms wrapped around her.  They laughed.  The sun was hot that day.  Sweat dripping, sand burning the soles of their feet as they ran back to the car.  Windows down, music playing, clothes drying.  Rough hands on hot steering wheel, burning too.  He rubs his eyes and shakes his head.  Glancing to his left down the road.  Down at his hands.  Soft little yellow petals still stuck to his skin.  Flowers.  He looks back out over the field of yellow.  And sneezes.  Walking away, he can hear the beat of the ocean waves and the cries of seagulls above.  He can almost hear her laugh.  The further he walks the more distant it gets.  He pulls his jacket together at the neck, a cold breeze sliding its way against his skin.  Tall trees surround him now, on either side of the road.  They tower over him, green and fresh.  Bold.  Strong.  Blinking a few times, he looks up and around.  And walks on.

Trees. Standing in Line.

Amagerfælled

Hello.  Hello.  Why?  Yes, hello, that's what I said.  And        why?  Why do we stand in line?  Why do we?        

Stand in line.  Just stand.

I don't know.         Roots?  What did you say?  We're rooted by what?  

               And what if we  j u m p..  J U M P.  

         We
              may
                          f
                           a
                          l
                            l.  Perhaps.  And then what?  What next?  

Winter and a City Thawing

He takes her hand, hoping it will make a difference.  She doesn't seem to hear him.  Distracted, she is.  Occasionally her mouth moves but he isn't sure if she has said anything, his ears covered by a thick fur hat.  He feels too awkward to ask, trapped at the thoat and thoughts going.  Shooting him down.  Her ears are covered by a bushy nest of hair.  He wishes he could see her ears.  He curses at them, knowing he would most probably love and admire them just as much as her eyebrows and thin lips.  She has a bland look of disinterest on her face.  Won't he shut up at some point?  Silence is the best kind of talk.  Isn't silence evidence of a deeper connection?  What wasn't said.  Read between the lines.  Comfortable silence.  Yes.  Behind them, people have crawled out of their little Winter hideouts to walk across the frozen lakes.  Sun shining, shreaks ringing out when ice cracks beneath...  

It seems like a life time ago when the lakes were frozen.  Winter seems far away when the sun shines.  A town shedding layers and layers each day.  Jackets, scarfs, beanies thrown into cupboards.  Stepping out and soaking up the warm light.  When the sun shoots jagged rays through and between buildings, they stop.  Someone always stops and closes their eyes.  A little streak of warmth in which they stand, thawing.  Once a city of hibernation, now a city coming to life.  I sat on the bridge the other day, reading and writing next to a group of friends spending a sunny hangover Sunday lying in the sun with a guitar.  After a Winter of self and retreat, the sunlight is bringing everyone out, and together.  I am just observing.  Just here.  Taking what comes my way.

If you're open to it, life is like a cat.  It drops all sorts of things at your feet, it is just a matter of whether you're open to it all.  Willing to say "yes" or able to see the positive out of something going a little wonky.

xx

"And he took a paintbrush and carelessly drew purple across the sky..."

A Purple Sunset.  Equinox.  March, 2016.

Some days I struggle to find inspiration.  I wander around through the grey and bland streets, skies and masses.  A winter stretching out too long.  The cold starting to eat at my bones, stealing my energy and lust for life.  On this day about a month ago, Equinox, I dragged myself out of bed in the early afternoon to find the sun shining.  I could barely feel its warmth on my skin, but the brightness seemed to change everything.  

We rode out past Amagerfælled looking for sticks and trees and wilderness.  I wasn't sure that I would find anything, because it isn't just about what is around me, but about the creative energy within.  It had somewhat dulled during the weeks previously.  Riding out there, I began to spot small things.  As if because I was looking for something beautiful, they started to appear everywhere.  Just like the theory I have just discovered is called the "Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon".  You see something once, you see it everywhere.  I squeeled in delight at a rusty submarine lying in what seemed like an inhabited junkyard, with caravans, cars and a cat.  On and on we went, further into the woods.  The further we went, the more I saw, the more my energy grew.  I was a child on an adventure.  When we were riding back, the sun had dropped below the horizon, due East I might add.  I looked back only to see this line of cloud above the trees.  Truly as if someone had taken a paintbrush and slashed purple accross the sky. 

The Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon.  I am referring to this phenomenon, not because I started to notice clouds, or that I have started to see a certain author mentioned in every cafe, or that I always see Volvo 240's chugging around town, but that this phenomenon can be applied to something more abstract.  The simple notion of noticing "beautiful things" everywhere.  The same way that one could notice negative things instead.  When I first arrived in Copenhagen, I was annoyed by the amount of rules they have here.  I felt claustrophic, suffocated by not being allowed to do whatever I wanted.  Don't park your bike here.  Take your bike in through this door, and out through the other.  Park your bike facing forward on the train.  Get on the bus through the front door, and always leave through the middle door.  Cross when it is green - never jaywalk.  Take a number.  Wear black.  Don't smile at strangers.  Work 9-5.  Have a plan.  They literally have little signs with rules to follow, e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e.  You get the gist.  I fixated on one thing, and so I saw the little signs everywhere.  

My point isn't a negative one though.  I am actually pointing out my fault, my weakness during that time.  If you have a negative mindset, you're going to see things everywhere that support your negative view.  You won't notice the good things.  I was working at a French restaurant for a while, and the chef had a negative outlook on Danes.  He let such small things annoy him.  He would complain about how stupid it looked when Danes came out of hibernation, sat down in the sun, turning their face up with their eyes closed.  His negativity gave me a little bit of my own medecine, and so I started to look for positive things.

I listened to a wonderful podcast on Radio National on the Ethics of Happiness.  The first speaker suggests 7 easy things to ask yourself and pay attention to over the course of one week.  The two that have had the most effect, were as follows:  1. Each day, ask yourself what are you most grateful for, and why.  This turns expectation into appreciation.  2.  When have you felt and do you feel most alive?  Two interesting little questions to give an alternative perspective on the self.  A more positive outlook and an increased awareness on what you need to cultivate and include in your routine, to give yourself increased general happiness.  Or to help you realise that you are actually happy, you just can't see it.

"And he took a paintbrush and carelessly drew purple across the sky..."

After taking this photo, we walked over a bridge above a main motorway or freeway.  I had such a build up of energy, such happiness and excitement tangled and confused in my body.  Smiling, I turned to face the cars below, took in a deep breath and screamed until my lungs were empty of air.  Laughing I looked ahead to where she was, only 20 metres away, walking with her bike.  I ran to catch up and asked "Didn't you hear me?"  She looked at me with irritation, her patience withering as fast as the temperature was dropping.  "No..?"  Her feet were cold.  It was all she could think about.  I looked back at the bridge and wondered how that could be.

x~x~x

Anemone nemorosa

This is the Anemone Nemorosa.  A dainty, white flower that covers forest floors of Denmark for a short time in Spring.  They are usually the first flower to appear, which is why a significant emotional attachment has developed over the years.  They are the sign that the long Scandinavian Winter is coming to an end.  There are songs about them.  People mention when they first come into bloom, and they crawl out of their caves and dens, walking around to find them.  

These flowers, I have just read, have a hectic lifestyle.  We only see them for the short period of this time.  The nights must be above frost for the flowers to bloom, and they are quickly suffocated by the trees that grow leaves, blocking out the sun.  The rest of the time, they are working hard on keeping their roots in the ground.  As soon as the Winter comes to an end, they get to work and start to push through the soil into open air hoping for a bit of sun to help them grow.  They spread further and more dense each year.  A beautiful little delicate flower.  

It's a bit like life too.  The first few days of sunlight, I didn't know what to do.  I felt like I was poking through soil, hoping to catch a bit of the warmth that would then inspire me to completely jump outside again.  Though, I would hope that the energy I am experiencing at the moment isn't as short lived as life outside for this flower.  Leaves may block the sun from my face, but I can run around and be anywhere.  I suppose it's just important to work on the roots, like this little flower.  Making sure that your roots are well kept, healthy and strong, so that next time you don't see the sun for a while, whether it be Winter or a low in life, the roots are set in the ground waiting to help you bloom again when the time comes.  Perhaps Winter is about that, going back to your core and working on yourself.  Ah, metaphores for life.

No matter.  This flower is blooming and the sunshine is warming.  Days are getting longer and there's an energy in the air.  The relief of Spring when you've lived through a Winter in Denmark...

The Anemone Nemorosa.

Shining Signs of Spring

I thought that Denmark didn't have any wilderness.  Travelling through Norway I was taken away on a romantic fairytale of mountains and valleys, seas and skies.  And pleasant people who gave me rides.  Returning, I've started to notice when the air is a little clearer, and the trees a little more wild.  Danish wilderness is dull; mild colours and limited palette.  Albeit, humble and simple in a way that doesn't intimidate - just kind of hugs you.  Allows you to discover it.  Walking through a forest not far from civilisation, there are small hints of seasonal changes.  Two weeks before, a cold, damp, dark experience, to find today small signs of Spring appearing.  In little corners and on branches and beneath the fallen leaves.  The first flowers poking through, and bright green leaves shining.  All in the detail.  Little details that would have been swallowed up by grand canyons and waterfalls or great hills and fjords.  All these signs reassuring us that we're headed towards summer, though they do say that Spring is the best time.  Here in Denmark.  Where colour palettes are mild and seemingly dull, all because everything is in the detail.

~

The Light and the Sky

The Light and the Sky.

Almost two months on from a wonderful adventure up North, I find myself sitting in my favourite cafe in Copenhagen.  The sun is shining in through the window, perfectly covering my body and half of my face like a bedsheet, but leaving my laptop screen in shadow.  Soft jazz oozes out of speakers somewhere.  The saxophone.  Maple syrup.  "Mus."  The bartender calls the chef.  "Mouse."  She wears light denim 90's 'Mum Jeans', as I would call them.  A nice sharp short and smart hair cut, showing off a beautiful neck.  The sun makes Copenhageners dozy.  Or is it just I, that feels dozy?  Riding around the streets, everyone is riding slower.  People walk with their eyes closed and faces tilted slightly to the sun.  They sit out on benches in the streets, rather than inside bars, drinking beer and wearing sunglasses and denim jackets.  An air of relief, shown through groundedness and the way their shoulders slump slightly and bodies completely surrender to the wooden seats.  Relaxed.  Relaxed and grounded.  They've just come through winter.  Squinting in the first sights of the sun, as if having woken from a 6 month long nap.  

I remember a time when I first walked in in January.  Tall candles lit on every table, many hands tapping away on MAC keyboards, and everyone all cosy-ed up with rugs and roll necks.  One young woman was nestled in the corner by the window.  Headphones over her messy brown hair and fringe.  Scarf as big as a hug around her neck and shoulders, and big woollen socks covering her feet.  Her shoes were off and her legs curled up on the bench.  As if she were at home.  I remember her.  Concentrating on whatever it was, but just there.  The cafe was a place of warmth to write in.  Now, the vibe continues, but the place isn't full.  Instead, the fight is to find a spot on the benches outside.  

It's 11 degrees in Copenhagen today.  Spring is here.  I could hear vacuum cleaners going in the apartments this morning.  Above, below and to each side.  Doonas shaken off verandahs and dust flying through the air in the sunlight - I joined.  Spring cleaning.  Cleaning out the dust, and blowing away the cobwebs that have made their way into corners of ceilings and minds.  A father sitting on his verandah in the sun;  With a newspaper, without a shirt on, as his children play below and yell up to him.  Again, relaxed and grounded, surrendouring to the chair...

The coffee machine screeches as milk is heated, waking me from my thoughts trailing along on something but nothing, just wandering.  Almost two months ago I went on an adventure and this, was my favourite photo of all.  The Light and the Sky.

~

 

 

Looking out at the Horizon

Life and everything around you now, can seem a little foggy.  As if walking through a haze. Rather than worrying, accept.  Accept the present - and know what you're working towards. Even if you occasionally feel like you've lost track or that nothing is clear, knowing that you're aiming for a clear, bright and shining horizon is enough.

And take a break, take a breath. Find a new patch of wilderness close to where you live and take an hour walking by yourself. Breathe in the air, listen to the sounds and look around you.

Live // love // life.

Photo: @miemiablog 
Seaspray, Victoria
Australia

Swaying in the Breeze

I took this photo at the start of summer last year in Australia.  This beautiful yet strange grass covered a field overlooking the Great Ocean Road at Pt Roadknight.  Up close, when the sun is shining, golden grass such as this reminds me of what it feels like to be in a dream.  The softness of the experience.  The softness of the touch, the smiles and laughter ringing out.  Not quite being able to catch and hold onto what you just saw or heard.  Never quite clearly able to see a face.  And then, the process of waking up.  Still with your eyes closed, still in a dream.  When you start to feel the crinkled cotton and the weight of the feather doona keeping you warm and snug, the remnants of a dream dancing in front of you.  Teasing you.  The more you become aware of your conscious surroundings, the more it disappears.  Away.  When the sun shines through soft grass in a field, and the breeze makes it dance, it reminds me of what it feels like to be in a dream.  The touch.  The smiles and laughter.  The emotions that aren't ever clear but leave you feeling something.  These soft dreams move mountains.  And they just dance, lightly in the breeze.  Delicate yet strong.  Slipping away between fingers.

The Northern Lights

We walked around in ridiculous suits trying to keep warm.  A fire crackling, waves lapping at rocks down by the shore.  At first it was a faint, shy streak of green.  Timid and subtle, though enough to make butterflies flutter and excitement bubble.  Standing on the hill, looking out across the water, mountains all around.  Occasional shoots of green appearing just for moments.  No sound.  It didn't make a sound.  That was the strangest thing.  I don't know why but I expected at least a whispering or whirring of the wind.  It came in waves, teasing us.  We ran around whooping and pointing and shouting.  Hearts beating, fingers cold and cheeks frozen.  The Northern Lights.  All at once it shot across the sky.  Light everywhere, dancing and playing above us.  The mountains that had previously made me feel small, were made to mere mounds underneath the lights.  We screamed, ran around, made crazy by the show above.  And then, when photos had been taken and we'd calmed down a little, I walked a little way up the hill.  I turned and fell into the deep snow, arms out stretched, looking at the sky above.  Breathing, looking.  In awe.  It didn't make me feel small, the Northern Lights.  It just made me feel warm.  I felt honoured to be on Earth to be able to witness something so beautiful.  We stayed out until long into the night, hoping for more glances.  Eating lamb sausages cooked on the fire, bums kept warm on reindeer skins, laughing, telling stories and singing songs.  We got back to the warm house around 4am and made two big cups of tea, taking some time to process what we'd seen and to appreciate it, before we went to sleep.

A Cup of Tea

Sitting undercover in a little beach hut by the water, the girl and her mum huddled together with a thermas of tea between them.  They sipped at the tea, holding the cups with bare hands, watching steam rise, dancing around their noses.  The sun was setting and the mountains were still pale pink puddings, straight out across the water.  The girl stuck her hand out with her nose in the air.  Her partner in crime, her mother, stuck her nose up in response and with an air of formality and seriousness, handed her the Kvikk Lunsj.  The girl giggled and snapped a piece off.  As the biscuit crunched between her teeth and milk chocolate melted on her tongue, warming her mind and relaxing her body, she heard a voice.  Looking outside again, she was surprised to see her little friend hooting and yelling from a small floating device in the water.  

"Ahoy there!"  He said in his proper posh accent, pronouncing each sound and vowel with lots of time and precision.  "Ahoy, sailor!"  He was paddling around in the still, sparkling water.  Colours shining metalic as if he were splashing around in liquid mercury.  

She hugged her mug closer to her, whistling lightly into her tea and letting the steam tickle her nose.  Cheeks pink and rosey, eyes watering slightly from the crisp air that was lowering in temperature the more the sun disappeared.  She smiled slightly, watching her little friend that wasn't so little, make a fool of himself.  She even thought she saw a whale poke its nose up out of the water as he waved his pirate hat in a bow to greet the beast by his boat.  It was rather a spectacle.

Her mother leaned in closer and hummed a little tune.  "Mmm... It is very beautiful, your dessert landscape."

Nougat Swirls and Ice Cream Mountains

A breath out, condensed in the air.  A breath in, kept short.  Fingers in gloves, still cold.  Swaying, jiggling her legs, as if juggling her body.  To keep warm, obviously.  Stones creaked and scratched together beneath her shoes.  Where she could easily reach the waters edge, thin ice cracked beneath her feet.  She thought of crème brûlée.  A faint memory, her last birthday.  They had been out somewhere.  "You break it gently with the back of your dessert spoon."  She said to no one in particular in a funny voice, wondering when such a thing would come in handy.  Music, laughter and smiles faded.  Short breath in.  A dragon breathing fire out.  She watched it hang in the air.  It was cold.  Her mum was walking further ahead, overjoyed looking at something at her feet.  Seaweed perhaps.  Occasionally waving for her to come over, but she just smiled and waved back.  In these moments, she took to talking to herself.  As if she also had a little friend by her side, though not a little friend, perhaps the same age.  A boy.  That listened.  And had a proper accent.  Like, you know..

"Look out there.  Look at the view!"  It said.  Her friend's voice.  She looked.  It was alright.  She looked to her left, her mum was still frantically prancing in the snow by the sea.  To her right, the car.  Parked.

"Lollies.  I could eat lollies."  She said to her friend, but really to no one in particular.  She was thinking of the chocolate bar from the last Statoil.  The truck driver in front of them in the queue had pointed it out.  "The original KitKat!"  He claimed with Norwegian patriotism.  He bought one too.

"Yeah right."  She kicked a rock.  Her toe throbbed a little in her snowboot.  Her feet were sweaty.  Funny that.  She wasn't phased.  She wasn't excited.  All she did was squint and look.  Look that way, look the other way, and then look that way again.
"Eat them later.  Just look at that view.  Seriously!  You've just got to."

Her arms fell to her side, her hands snug in gloves.  She didn't look left to her mum, and she didn't look right to the car.  She didn't look down at her feet, or the rocks, or the ice.  She stood and looked out.  Across the fjord.  Her little friend's voice was gone.  She looked and looked.  The mountains were nougat swirls and ice cream.  All scooped up and smoothed out like it is in the shops.  The setting sun made it all pink.  It looked like a watercolour painting that was seeping colour into the sky.  Pink continued from the swirls of mountains into the spotted clouds and further turning into a pale blue.  Sharp breath in, dragon fire breath out.  She blinked.  And again.  And another.  Swaying her shoulders, jiggling her legs and juggling her body to keep warm, her eyes didn't leave the dessert landscape, the pink horizon.

"Hey, you!"  Her mum's arms enveloped her and shook her lovingly to warm her up.  Smiling, her mum started to move towards the car, not stopping to look out across the fjord.  The girl was still standing there, eyes looking straight out.  Her mum stopped and turned back, questioning what fantasies had taken her daughter this time.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"  The girl said with a proper kind of accent.  Like, you know.

 

Dusk Dreaming - Arctic Sunset

It is quite remarkable, isn't it, that the sun rises and sets every day.  That through all of this hustle and bustle, if you just make time for it or notice it when it is happening, you can enjoy such a simple but beautiful thing.  Every day.  The light it sends across the skies.  Even if you're in an office, or a library studying hard looking out the window, the light at dusk and dawn hangs in the air in a special way.  

The moments at dusk and dawn, at sunrise and sunset, remind us that while we worry about little things like covering our straightened hair from the rain, or fixing our punctured bike tire on the way to work, or worrying about whether "he likes me, he likes me not", the Earth continues to turn.  Continues to rotate around the sun.  The atmosphere continues to protect us.  The clouds rain down water for the trees that grow buds and flowers, or where leaves turn red and fall gently to the damp ground.  Where animals scutter to and fro picking at insects and smaller animals we don't ever notice.  And the birds return when the ice has melted, setting up nests..  It is quite remarkable, that the sun rises and sets every day.  That the Earth keeps turning.  That our worries are for nothing.  Oh, to be a bird flying into the sunset...

We Met on a Mountain

The engines roared as they pushed up the mountain over the snow.  They slowed as we came closer and said 'hej'.  Rolling cigarettes the minute we stopped.  Not phased by the cold that otherwise shot intense pain through my hands - giving me a momentary arthritis.  Both dressed in the newest gear, with matchings hats.  They were heading to a hut on the mountain for the weekend.  No electricity - just a fire, whisky, and cigarettes.  And peace and quiet.  Not a lot of glamour, quite a lot of luxury.  They were grounded, cool and calm.  Suggested locations to see the lights further up North, and smiled.  The word 'content' flitters into my thoughts while I write this, trying to describe the impression I got of these two Norwegians I met on a mountain.  

"Can I take a photo?"
"Sure."

On the way down, hanging on the back of a snowmobile, he said..  "You should have taken a photo with her in the front.  She was riding the best snow mobile, 70 horse power..."

Cool, calm and content.  The Two Norwegians I Met on a Mountain.

 

The Hills are Alive

The girl's head was awkwardly rested against the glass window, her hands and arms slumped in her lap.  She would look over at her occasionally, enjoying the peace a sleeping child spread through her.  At times she hummed to herself, but she didn't put any music on.  The journey had been a long one.  Many stopovers in petrol stations to quench thirst and satisfy hunger, and to sleep sporadically here and there - whenever she needed a break from driving.  The girl slept whenever she wanted, so there wasn't really any need to stay over in a town.  Pay for a hotel.

The last stretch of drive had been through forest and tight valleys, all shadowing the road from the sun.  When they were nearing Tromsø, they came around a bend.  The landscape opened up into a bright display of white mountains.  Pointy and sharp.  Jagged.  Rugged - roughly arranged together, but shining as brightly in the sun as a crystals thrown across the earth.  Although she thought it a pity to wake the girl, she lightly shook her.  She woke, if only for a moment, confused.  Mmm?  Indicating at the scenery, the girl looked out with her half open eyes, only to smile lightly and fall back into the deep state of unconsciousness she came from.

The mountains, though rough and raw, provided a brightness and excitement for reaching the final destination.  A nice buzz in her body as she kept driving them, towards their new life.  And they were together in it.  Together on the journey.