082: The Moment of Awareness
Between two tunnels there is a car park. It is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by crooked pines and glacier-worn cliffs dressed in moss and bogs. Supposedly there are rock carvings there, but we have looked and never found them.
I like to imagine that the carvings are only for those of an adventurous heart. You will come across them not knowing what they are, and you will crouch down to run your fingers along the wind-worn furrows. You will not be able to understand them—after all, their language has been forgotten—but you will get an odd feeling, as though the wind falls quiet around you and you are lifted off the grey rock. Then you will look up and see a luscious world open before you, filled with grass and lakes and twittering birds. In the distance you see a shimmering white city, and beyond it—snow-capped mountains. A hand reaches out, welcoming you home.
Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad)
I like to imagine that the carvings are only for those of an adventurous heart. You will come across them not knowing what they are, and you will crouch down to run your fingers along the wind-worn furrows. You will not be able to understand them—after all, their language has been forgotten—but you will get an odd feeling, as though the wind falls quiet around you and you are lifted off the grey rock. Then you will look up and see a luscious world open before you, filled with grass and lakes and twittering birds. In the distance you see a shimmering white city, and beyond it—snow-capped mountains. A hand reaches out, welcoming you home.
Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad)
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