Time to think

This morning (I started writing this a week and half ago) I woke up early to go to work. The advantage of getting up at 6am to wash the floors at the dentist office is that I have time to relax and really wake up before classes start. Today I had time to drink coffee, eat breakfast, and watch the sunrise.

The sunrises here start with the stark contrast of white on blue illuminated by the moon in the pre-dawn. As the sun creeps above the mountains behind me the blues slowly change to shades of pink and lavender, but the snow is always white. Once the sun has finally emerged from it's evening resting place, the blues return; now, the snow is almost blinding in its whiteness.

I appreciate the luxury of time to watch the sunrise in the mornings. I'm able to wake up and gather my thoughts before the day begins. On days when we have singing in classes I'm able to warm up my voice too. If only I could remember this in the evenings so I didn't stay up so late!

24/7

Thousands of pictures and millions of words will never accurately describe the beauty those of us fortunate enough to live in Rauland are surrounded by constantly. Vinje kommune (where we're located) is home to a disproportionate number of Norway's artists and authors; they're here either because the landscape inspires talent or talent is drawn to these surroundings. There is ample evidence of both in these parts.

When I wake up on a sunny day (or a day that will be sunny) I walk into my kitchen and look out the window. The first thing I notice is how the mountain (Skarsnuten) completely fills my frame of vision. I want to take a few steps back in order to see the whole thing since the top is too high for me to see from my room. Instead I approach the window (floor-to-ceiling, which makes no sense from a heat saving standpoint, but we'll take it) and look out and the rolling white giant that slices the heavens off at their knees.

Sunsets here are equally impressive. The sky stays blue while every reflective surface (mountains, buildings, clouds) turn a rosy warm shade of pink. The lake, which is frozen over and covered in snow, turns into a huge pink disc. I do miss the rich array of colors we get in Seattle, but the simplicity of just pink between the long shadows is breathtaking.

I have always been a sucker for nighttime. When it snows at night you feel like the stars are descending from the sky to hibernate in the fields for winter. When it's clear, you can see them, safely in the sky. The air is so clear and there is so little light pollution that the stars really seem like they could fall to Earth. Last night was a stunning crescent moon; I tried to take photos, but they all turned out a little blurry. I'm no night photographer.

During the day, everything glitters. The colder it gets, the more the ice crystals sparkle in the sun. There are icicles hanging off of every building and car, varying from clear to mineral tinted greens and reds. Cloud cover means two things, warmer weather and more snow.

So many different kinds of snow

The snow falls here almost every day. I am amazed by its variety. Some days it falls in great, big, fluffy flakes that float forever before they finally reach the ground. Other days the snow is angry and fast; small projectiles whipped around by the wind create patterns against the night sky. Some days I can't see that the snow is falling, but I can feel the icy precipitation on my exposed skin and hear it as it hits the ground and the hood of my jacket. Sometimes it's just purposeful; intent on covering the ground, it falls in large flakes fast and hard and straight down.

My favorite is when it glitters. I was walking home a few days ago and everything was glittering. The snow on the ground and the houses and the strange little trees they have suspended from the light posts. What was impressive, though, was that the air was glittering. In the background, the sun was setting turning the mountain rose-colored, but everywhere around me the air sparkled like it was full of diamond dust!

Light

Before I came to Norway for the first time (when I was ten) I imagined that everything here was colorless, like in a black and white movie. I'm not really sure where I got that image from, but certainly stories of the cold, dark winters and, well, black and white movies didn't help. In college I watched the old version of Hunger as part of my Scandinavian Cinema class; the light in that movie was what I was expecting things to be like. Boy was I surprised when I found the intense color palette. Pleasantly surprised, I might add. When I came a few years later, in the winter, I was also impressed by how light it was in contrast to the stories of darkness I'd heard.

Today, on my way to play for my practice playing exam, I was enveloped in a light that was so thin it barely made it through the clouds. Everything from the trees to the buildings to the mountains in the distances and especially the snow was black, white, or a shade of grey in between. I've never seen silver clouds before. Black ones, sure, but not silver; maybe pewter is more descriptive. They hung over the sky, holding in the horizons.

Somehow, the eerie lack of color didn't make me feel uneasy. In a way, it was rather comforting to know that the strange grey world my young mind had cooked up wasn't an indication of a lack of mental pigment. The stark contrast with Sunday's dazzling blue skies and glittering fresh snow was enough to remind me that I'm in a special place here amongst the mountain tops. If that weren't enough, after my practice exam (or perhaps during or before), the silver carpet lining the sky gave way to several hours of spectacular snowfall.