Unformed Landscape

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The nights were no longer properly dark, it was April. Kathrine had gotten up early, even though it was Saturday. She woke her son, fixed him his breakfast, and took him to his grandmother. She went home, buckled on her cross-country skis, and set off. She followed the snowmobile tracks until she reached the first height, and after that the wires that led up to the radio mast. Finally, after perhaps an hour, she moved away from that last landmark at a sharp angle, and glided out into the limitless white of the fjeld.

At around noon she sat down to rest and have something to eat on a rock that broke through the snow. She ran her hands over the orange, yellow, and white lichens that covered the stone.

Later on, when she was on the trail again, there was a sort of misty haze, and the sky lost its blueness, and got paler and paler. But she knew the way, she had been to the lighthouse many times, and even when the sun was finally gone from sight, and the light was so diffuse that everything blurred, she went on, and wasn’t afraid of losing her way.

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