2)
Perpetuated afternoons
It is almost midnight. Then midnight. Then 1 a.m. The sky is still in fire, sunrays beat up wast self-building clouds until they shed red foam to the shoulders of distant mountains. We keep looking. Then Zoli goes on reading, obviously without any lamp or artificial light. I keep peeping towards the uncurtained window. The spectacular drama goes on up there on the other shore of the fjord, and far far away on this side, more to the west. Also more to the east. And more to the south... Sunrays paint mountain peaks... just be a climber and watch this, you heart will scream of rapture.
However, Zoli gave it up after a while. He goes to bed desperately trying to find darkness, oh, just anything that would cover his eyes enough. Desperately trying to usher me to bed, as he knows that I will have a hard timewaking up in the morning.
No, I don’t want to sleep now, tonight of all nights. I slept between 1 a.m. to 4 a.m. yesterday and woke up at a triumphant, brilliant sunlight out there. The day before yesterday also. Tonight I am not going to let the mystery remain unsolved: what happens to the sky in the REALLY late night or the VERY early dawn? I need to know that and I am going to find that out now. I watch and daydream with open eyes in this never-ending afternoon that will eventually wake up itself as a new day’s morning. I don’t grow sleepy but my eyes slowly become very tired. I am on the verge of giving up. Not the red and orange light and cloud scenery outside – that goes on, the mixed colours softly pour down on the slopes of the other shore...
Finally an idea comes up. We have two watches, each of them having two alarm functions. I set the first watch to alarm at 1.30 a.m. and at 2 a.m. The second one will wake me up at 3 a.m. and at 4 a.m. After 4 a.m. I have already seen how it is: it is like like midday in Luxembourg. Thus I have myself woken up at every hour – what a nightwatching J To see what happens, to see if there is darkness for at least a half an hour.
Well, I woke up at each alarm, at each hour and yet – although we were still far from the Arctic Circle – the dark night somehow never came. The same light-grey and reddish twilight was there all the time. It was never darker than an average cloudy-rainy autumn afternoon in Luxembourg. But it was definitely a happier shade, and a more heart-opening mood of the sky. Of course, Norway pays a hard price for this when winter sets in. But my surprised child mentality could not be more content with this natural white night experienced for the first time.
It is almost midnight. Then midnight. Then 1 a.m. The sky is still in fire, sunrays beat up wast self-building clouds until they shed red foam to the shoulders of distant mountains. We keep looking. Then Zoli goes on reading, obviously without any lamp or artificial light. I keep peeping towards the uncurtained window. The spectacular drama goes on up there on the other shore of the fjord, and far far away on this side, more to the west. Also more to the east. And more to the south... Sunrays paint mountain peaks... just be a climber and watch this, you heart will scream of rapture.
However, Zoli gave it up after a while. He goes to bed desperately trying to find darkness, oh, just anything that would cover his eyes enough. Desperately trying to usher me to bed, as he knows that I will have a hard timewaking up in the morning.
No, I don’t want to sleep now, tonight of all nights. I slept between 1 a.m. to 4 a.m. yesterday and woke up at a triumphant, brilliant sunlight out there. The day before yesterday also. Tonight I am not going to let the mystery remain unsolved: what happens to the sky in the REALLY late night or the VERY early dawn? I need to know that and I am going to find that out now. I watch and daydream with open eyes in this never-ending afternoon that will eventually wake up itself as a new day’s morning. I don’t grow sleepy but my eyes slowly become very tired. I am on the verge of giving up. Not the red and orange light and cloud scenery outside – that goes on, the mixed colours softly pour down on the slopes of the other shore...
Finally an idea comes up. We have two watches, each of them having two alarm functions. I set the first watch to alarm at 1.30 a.m. and at 2 a.m. The second one will wake me up at 3 a.m. and at 4 a.m. After 4 a.m. I have already seen how it is: it is like like midday in Luxembourg. Thus I have myself woken up at every hour – what a nightwatching J To see what happens, to see if there is darkness for at least a half an hour.
Well, I woke up at each alarm, at each hour and yet – although we were still far from the Arctic Circle – the dark night somehow never came. The same light-grey and reddish twilight was there all the time. It was never darker than an average cloudy-rainy autumn afternoon in Luxembourg. But it was definitely a happier shade, and a more heart-opening mood of the sky. Of course, Norway pays a hard price for this when winter sets in. But my surprised child mentality could not be more content with this natural white night experienced for the first time.
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