Weaving Sunlight Threads In His Hands

Seven hours on a train from Oslo to Bergen.

Velkommen ombord. I Toget Til Bergen.

Then Bergen, along the wharf and in the cafes, in the sunshine and then in the cold winds. i am drinking the strongest coffees i have ever had the pleasure of drinking while warm and light Bergen dialects of Norwegian are spoken around me in soft sing-songy tones by beautiful hipsters. And the steep cobblestone streets lead down to Bryggen along the harbor one way, and paths to pretty houses in the lush green mountains the other. Bicycles everywhere, especially near the university buildings which are scattered along the main streets and museums, where beautiful students step outside to smoke cigarettes between classes.

i spend all my money on postcards and stamps, coffee and organic fresh baked bread. And my shoes are worn thin and breaking apart, because i have walked the charming town so much, over and over again.

i am in love.

the juniper bends, as if you were listening by cynthia yip


Last night, walking alone in the cold and rain that are the Oslo spring streets, i wandered into the darkness of Rockefeller. Inside, i was serenaded into a warm haze by the beautiful Mr. Beam, and then made to dance by Joey Burns and his culprits.

Oh, will it ever stop raining here?