Saturday afternoon. We have just finished our barbeque dinner and I am laying flat on my stomach on the terracce, photographing the spectacular view. I already have files filled with photos showing Aursundet fjord with my flowerbeds in the foreground, close and distant mountains in the backgroud. The light is constantly changing, the greens of the trees are never the same, I never imagine the fjord could show so many different shades of blue and grey. I raise my camera. The sky is an everchanging tabeau of soft, fat greys and whites. A rainshower is building up.
Terje has changed and is wearing a pair of old, worn out trousers and a greygreen sweather I knitted him 20 years ago, he is on his way out to work in the forest. Marta is playing with her ball, but flee indoors when the rain starts. Curled up in the sofa she has a new magazine to read. I shoot a couple more photos and then I back indoors to save my camera from the rain. And to warm by the hearth. Now when the sun is playing hide and seek, the afternoon feels chilly.
It is Whitsun, and we are at our cabin for the holidays. Here we live our cabin life, far from everyday chores. Far from work responsibilities, city noises, worklists and dates. Here we take off our wrist watches and just life.