There’s something about light. Light wrapped around the day, driving away all but a relic of night. Sun from the north, across the top of the world, preternatural. Full bright on wind blown, mare’s tail waterfalls and a wonderfully strange, quiet, midnight gloaming.
Light bursting inside a huge chunk of glacier, city block sized, mint green, fractured from ice cap by the sun that warms me, casting itself pell mell over a cliff and frozen in memory for the briefest moment, burning with light.
Light between mountains, glowing the air, wind on the water everywhere around islets and sea stacks and mountains on mountains on mountains.
Sadly I’ve met no mermaids, sirens or mountain-hall living fairies – or at least none that I can see, or listen to and follow. If they are there, they have no interest in me. A good thing, I expect, watching the bewitching Huldra at Kjossfossen – I would be there in an instant, should the call ever come my way.
Huldra at Kjossfossen
Huldra 3