Somebody once loved this vehicle,
somebody owned its neightbour.
Now they are just standing here,
not collecting dust but raindrops.
Not collecting dust, but moss.

Gazing towards the sky as chilly air is filling my lungs. Breathing in, breathing out; all over again once more. Above me there are some leaves left. They are bright like sunshine, so sunny like stars.
Thus here I find them, while stretched out on the bitter ground. – with fences all around.

Sleeping late
Waking early;
There’s never enough light

————
Norway is this grey place during November. There’s scarcely any daylight and all it’s all too early for snow. The autumn leaves which used to brighten the days are now growing old and brown, the grass is gone and the fields are dark. Somewhere in the woods you can still hear some patient bird sing, calling for a mild winter and a sudden spring.

Enjoy the season:)

… or me?
It’s good to be back.

"Momentum" - Moss 2009

You walk into a square room. The walls mostly white. Grey lines are written all around. Numbers, letters, words. Sentences? – maybe. Maybe, if you take a closer look and read between the bleached thoughts.
You could have made this, I could have made this. But we did not.

And that simple fact made me smile all day…

The sparkling flames of a bonfire. A bunch of people sitting everywhere: On the ground, on the grass, on rocks, on a trunk, sitting on what used to be a chair. There are stars above us, the moon has just risen. Laughter blends with the gentle sound of waves. A boat is hurrying past us, but we can’t see it.
Someone enlivens the strings of a guitar. We sing Ol’ Bob Marley’s tunes while discussing the noble art of death growling. All of a sudden we realize we need more wood. Nobody moves! We are just sitting, waiting for this awkward moment to pass.

Gone, left and back again.

The flames are eating eagerly anew. And we can continue with our lives. Our life. I guess we’re all a bit cold, a fire can not make unlimited amounts of difference. Yet we stay, here. A place between dreadlocks and pitch-black darkness. Not necessarily somewhere between heat and cold, but a place between two shades of light. The night is still just a teenager; waiting to be tamed…

A sound of silence:
Wood and plastic
Once so alive!

The sky is dark, the leaves are not. Or was it the other way around? I might have got it all wrong somehow…

What if I am sitting on this leaf. A golden leaf with muddy waters all around. No sound, no wind, just me and the ripples. Floating towards some kind of shore…
The horizon draws nearer, no one knows what is there. It’s just me and my leaf, with life all around.

All over again:
Leaving home
One more time