The winter night came silently on snowy paws. Winter after winter, chill night after night. The glaciers wrapped their polar bear skins round the mountain tops. The spring sun coaxed drops of water from the ice. Drop found drop. Stream found stream. Ripped and tore, rushed and gushed. Gouged and ground away the rock and earth. Shaped the deep valley. And - the mirroring, emerald fjord. Helge Torvund
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No matter where I turn my eyes, great mountains over each other rise, flank to shoulder on they soar, to heaven’s rim and all between. We wait to hear tumultuous roar: silence adds grandeur to the scene. Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1832-1910)
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Aurlandsfjorden and Nærøyfjorden
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I lay a gentle arm around a cloud stroke the moon’s shining crown 4
Preikestolen/The Pulpit Rock, Lysefjorden
and feel the evening in our quickened sinews. Helge Torvund 5
Do not believe I am a man of humble means! The sky has always lain open over me. I lived my words with the Southern Star as neighbour and the wind as my companion. I know the low-lying paths of ants through wisps of straw on the ground, but also yearning’s royal road of light where God’s footprints stand traced out in the stardust. I am a man. I have known greatness in the state of being so infinitely small. Hans Børli (1918-1989)
The Kjerag Boulder/Kjeragbolten, Lysefjorden 6
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In the east sits the glacier on its ice-green throne gleaming so proudly over the world. 8
Geirangerfjorden with waterfalls The Friar, The Bridal Veil and The Seven Sisters
But now all simmers and rushes and seethes in the sun, till the torrent pours headlong into the fjord. Vilhelm Krag (1871-1923) 9
Life can be so long, now and then lasting all of months on end broken by tall grass, deep-flowing rivers and kisses that last no longer than an apple takes to drop in that fleeting second between summer and fall. Terje Johanssen (1942-2005)
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The glacier Bøyabreen
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Trollstigen/The Troll Ladder mountain road
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the mountain unfolds that slow-blooming flower that someone, but never you will see wither and fall to dust over the blue vase’s lip Lars Saabye Christensen
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Rain always comes from clouds, clouds from mist and mist from moisture in the ground. Carl von LinnĂŠ (1707-1778)
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Rain showers over FjĂŚrlandsfjorden
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This home is so dear to me best in the world. My heart holds it near, this magical fjord, 16
Kje책sen, Hardanger
and the crags that delight and the clear evening light, my soul yearning dwells on them: Oh how I remember, remember this home! Elias Blix (1836-1902)
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Trolltunga/The Troll’s Tongue, Odda
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The invitation Will you give me your hand in the moonlight, you are leaves Under open sky. Over the yawning precipice. Like leaves, you and I. Trembling in the breeze and soon gone. Come Tarjei Vesaas (1897–1970)
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This was a few pages from the book Buy the book: www.naturkultur.no
This was a few pages from the book Buy the book: www.naturkultur.no