Chapter 25

During those trips, I’d keep away from Oslo as much as I could, and had no interest in the Edward Munch museum, quaint little cafes, or Holmenkollenski jump.

So what was happening to me this time around? Why did I feel so secluded?

I stood and peeked out of the frosted windowpane. The sky was incredible out there, displaying a million stars. The sight of it both humbled and thrilled me. A northern wind blew across the white valley, and all around, soft-peaked mountains circled the vast snow-covered terrain. The Bergsetgreen Glacier was somewhere near, the cabin owner had said. Just a long trek through dense woods, across a few streams, where the trees thinned out and the land turned to gravel and rock. I wished I could see it before I left, this condensed white-blue rock of ice, hiding fresh water, old and dying every day.

I wish Derek could paint it. But these colors weren’t for him.