Every Tuesday, we share photographs from our recent or long-ago travels, or just everyday stuff that appealed to our mindful eye and sharp sensibilities as captured through fleeting images.
One of the things I love about Norway is how earthy and primal it feels – as if there are trolls hiding in car tunnels, or dryads living in the woods. Here are a few photos taken when we went on a trek in the Norwegian woods.
Trek in the Norwegian Woods
We all have forests on our minds. Forests unexplored, unending. Each one of us gets lost in the forest, every night, alone.
― Ursula K. Le Guin,
Here is Menard’s own intimate forest: ‘Now I am traversed by bridle paths, under the seal of sun and shade…I live in great density…Shelter lures me. I slump down into the thick foliage…In the forest, I am my entire self. Everything is possible in my heart just as it is in the hiding places in ravines. Thickly wooded distance separates me from moral codes and cities.
― Gaston Bachelard
A forest ecology is a delicate one. If the forest perishes, its fauna may go with it. The Athshean word for world is also the word for forest.
― Ursula K. Le Guin,
You could almost feel the trees growing. The pool he had just got out of was not the only pool. There were dozens of others—a pool every few yards as far as his eyes could reach. You could almost feel the trees drinking the water up with their roots. This wood was very much alive.
― C.S. Lewis,
Yet for the first time in three days, I want something. I want the forest lord to turn me into a cedar. The very oldest islanders say that if you are in the interior mountains on the night when the forest lord counts his trees, he includes you in the number and turns you into a tree.
― David Mitchell
The whole forest was peopled with frightful sounds–the creaking of the trees, the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; while sometimes the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave a broad roar around the traveler, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn. But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from its other horrors.
― Nathaniel Hawthorne,
A single-file army of ants biting a mammoth tree into uniform grains and hauling it down to the dark for their ravenous queen. And, in reply, a choir of seedlings arching their necks out of rotted tree stumps, sucking life out of death. This forest eats itself and lives forever.
― Barbara Kingsolver,
Forest! They seek your trees to sleep among,
With their long sentences hung. Forest!
― Rainer Maria Rilke
Out of the forest I come with my flowers, singing, all alone.
― Carol Ann Duffy,
These woods are where silence has come to lick its wounds.
― Samantha Hunt,
Wrapped in the deep fragrance of the forest, I listen to the flapping of the birds’ wings, to the stirring of the ferns. I’m freed from gravity and float up–just a little–from the ground and drift in the air. Of course I can’t stay there forever. It’s just a momentary sensation–open my eyes and it’s gone. Still, it’s an overwhelming experience. Being able to float in the air.
― Haruki Murakami