Transcendental moments — Innerbergsalen

Driving home, very still dusk, a Carter family CD in the car radio: Poor Orphan Child, Little Moses, … 1927's static crackling. Music usually disappears into the noise of the road, but their harmonies are as clear, and the rhythm of the autoharp and the deep strings of the guitar as propulsive, as ever. My son content beside me, chatting, practising whistling, sleeping after nightfall long after usual bedtime.

Strong coffee in a thermos to keep me awake, kettle-boiled at dinner — overlooking Aure from high up, a yellow-to-almost-black sunset on island mountains, my son eating hot stew with a wooden spoon, and thin flatbread.

An elk. A pair of white-and-black-patterned stalks, close, in a field after Kyrksæterøra, with Hemnfjorden unmoving behind. A mountain-corner, rock bending right into the sea, on the other side of the water. An antlered deer.

An enlivened tiredness in the legs… Forest, bog, and stone… My son's excitement, his sense of mastery in making it up and down without being carried.

We not wanting to descend from the top in its insurpassable light, in its stooping on all four sides to sea and up again to bridges and mountains, in our signing of its guestbook…

We meeting my colleague Trude and her partner on our way up, their way down, for a cheerful chat — the empathy of a shared endeavour…

We descending in the forest, the leaves glistened by the light of the by now quite low sun…

My son leading the way, proudly pointing out loose stones for me to watch out for, seeking out the next red paint marker…

We navigating the car through cows and sheep that had found their out onto the narrow lane from the mountain to the road.

Written down on the 23rd of August, 2022. The trip was on the 20th.

Last updated: 10:02 (GMT+2), 24th August 2022