Text and images Britt-Arnhild Wigum Lindland
Hardly is the snow melted before the tiny little scillas force their leaves through the frozen soil, through brown leaves from last autumn.
I find my way through paths still covered in snow, trying to jump from bare soil to bare soil. Rejoycing in the strong signs of spring. Of new birth.
Among the growing bulbs a crow lies dead. No better place to say goodbye to life than on a cathedral graveyard.
Life and death. Hand in hand.
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