CITY SERIES For the love of where we’re from.
TRONDHEIM, NORWAY By: Lilly Klein I have found myself underneath the shade of the trees in the little flower garden North East of Gamle Bybro, it is sunny but my fingers are cold, the air is crisp and clement. The sound of the swifts, cavorting through the air is relaxing. The gentle noise of Nidelva’s water running towards the fjord is tranquil. I am perched on a wooden bench, swinging my legs like a child because my feet don’t quite reach the ground. Perhaps this is adding to the feeling of buoyancy I am experiencing. Nidelva - the river’s moniker - strikes me as a mysterious name. Although the origins of it are known to me, I picture the river as an alluring woman - the soul of the city, the heartbeat, the backbone, the eyes - the windows to Trondheims’ depth, character and beauty. On the other side of Nidelva, stands my Farmors father - my Oldefars’ - childhood home. Although modest, it’s white exterior holds charm and I feel a magnetic pull towards it. I can feel my heritage here, and it is making me feel both grounded and simultaneously alive, awake, and inspired. The grand church who’s steeple demands attention, extending far into the clouds, lies behind the tiny home. Its bell rings twice, notifying me of the time as the European summer light is delusive and beguiling. 9
