disappearing

Yesterday I went on a boat. I had been looking forward to this even before arriving. I took the coastal express to the first next destination. Brekstad. Turns out it its the second smallest town in Norway. The people that got off the boat with me seemed to be vanished in a moment and I was quickly wandering by myself around the tiny port and the desolated beach beside it. Only the cold wind kept the feeling of time. I had about an hour and half to wait for the next boat back to Trondheim. I didn’t look at the time once.

It was all about color and silence. But it was a dense quiescence filled up with the sounds of wind and waves while still remaining a silence. I remember that feeling of loaded silence next to a glacier when I was first in this country. The saturated blue of the water here is quite overwhelming. A couple of big ships came and went. Seagulls and crows were gliding above the shore and a couple of ducks flew across the sky quickly into the water. The wooden house by the beach seemed to be sleeping, flower pots and crocheted curtains by the window sills as only signs of active presence. There is a path between the beach and the houses with lamp posts which seem to me as witnesses acknowledging the space between me and an undefined distance. Every now and then, the wind brought the murmur of a helicopter. I noticed I have never seen snow like this one, the snow flakes are condensed into small balls that resemble polystyrene. But then again, I haven’t seen that many types of snow… Back in the waiting room with no battery left in my camera I made some quick notes in my notebook, trying to ignored the pain in my frozen fingers and toes.

Yesterday I managed to disappeared. For that short while nobody knew where I was. Here I am living in a borrowed flat, using a borrowed studio, in a borrowed city. Yesterday it also felt like a borrowed time. Just for myself. As I write now, back in my adopted kitchen, it is snowing again.