There wasn’t a chair….

30 08 2016

Wood wood houseI’m surrounded by crystal glazed water reflecting back a sorbet hued skyline. Within a minute the ferry will dock and I will be walking a carefully laid path back into town.
I pass by boat sheds, then houses and finally modern minimalist buildings with razor-sharp edges. Their understated forecourts deceive because within the smoked glass doors people are eating, drinking, chatting, flirting or proposing. I know. I’ve been here before. At last I reach the town square and it is exactly as I remember it. Light, spacious, clean and welcoming. The few people in it appear to be whispering to each other rather than shouting. It’s all so quiet. So tranquil.

If I continue across the square I know I will reach the section of the town where white wooden houses staircase a hill right up to the very top. I stayed there once. Invited there by a friend. She’d asked me to stay. She’d told me to sit anywhere but there wasn’t a chair. But there were oversized cushions covered in knitted fabric, sheep skin rugs on the walls, candles in earthen ware holders, and brown cheese in the kitchen. I still love that cheese.

When I left that wooden cocoon I felt as if I had been meditating for the past 3 days. The voices in my head were softer, my vision sharper, the air both cool and sweet.

But if I am to retrace the footsteps of a younger man I needed to find my accommodation. Is it there? No. Here? No. It’s here. I dawdle into the reception area. The girl behind the counter looks up and sends me a warm Latin smile. ‘Welcome to Norway’.

 

(She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere – So I looked around and I noticed there wasn’t a chair) extract from Norwegian Wood Lennon/McCartney

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