Eid-Al-Fitr Mubarak 2022

Another Ramadan has come and gone. A sure sign of the relentless passing of time. As always, it’s been a time of trials and tribulations. Of sincere prayers and deep reflections. A time of lucid late evenings and tired early mornings. And, as always, a time of failure and of success.

Today, on the eve of the last day of this holy month, I pray that I get to experience another opportunity to seek the ultimate benefits of my prayers together with my loved ones yet again.

May Allah accept our attempts in the month that has passed, and grant us the opportunity to improve our efforts in the future. I wish all Muslims a happy and blessed Eid al-Fitr!

Imperfect

The landscape lay before me like a painting.
If there could ever exist a perfect painting, that is.

But no human creation could possess such beauty.
Such blend of form and function.
None.

Taking it all in, I saw the final photograph in my mind’s eye.
A beautiful piece of art, able to stir in the viewers heart,
the same emotions that I felt inside me.
A frozen moment in time,
capturing forever the brilliance of the scene before me.

It pained me though, to realize that I could never make that happen.
How could I ever capture the grandness of it all?
The smell of moss in the air.
The sound of grass rippling in the water by the gentle breeze.
Then softness of the ground.

No matter how good the gear,
or how advanced the tools,
I would not succeed.
No, a photograph would be but a poor portrayal of my experience
of nature’s magnificent spectacle

Snow

Pure, fresh, pristine.
Having arrived just a few hours before,
it was waiting for us as we stood at the trailhead.
A clean white carpet draped on the forest floor,
inviting us in.

And we walked.

Hard as rock. And unforgivingly slippery.
Treacherous under a thin blanket of powder.
One misstep and we’d be on our backs.

We kept walking.

Brittle as glass.
Cracking easily under the weight of our steps like fine china.
A crisp ripping sound in the muffled forest air,
and then quiet.

We pressed on.

Soft, as the finest Egyptian cotton.
Cushioning our feet as if walking on puffs of cloud,
high above the forest floor.

We continued walking.

White turned gray and then black
as the day surrendered to dusk and then night.
Darkness descended upon us,
erasing the difference between the ground and the sky.

Like walking in nothingness,
the only sound we heard was the one of our own breathing,
and our footsteps on the black snow.

And we kept walking.

The Photographer’s Moment

Heavy rains were forecasted for the entire day, and that is exactly how it started on that August morning as we found ourselves gearing up for the hike.

The Norwegian summer can be unpredictable, especially this late in the season, so even though we had been hoping until the last minute to see an improvement in the forecast, we were fully prepared for a wet and windy experience. Although that could be an adventure in itself, my main concern was missing out on the view from the summit if the clouds did not clear.

Luckily, we only saw light rain as we made our way up, and the winds drove most of the low hanging clouds away by the time we reached the summit. As we were standing at the top the sun broke through, giving us a spectacular show of shadows, light, and color, fulfilling the promise of “the finest vantage point” in Luster!

This is when the photographer got his moment, the image was made, and all hardship was forgotten.

All Grown Up

It seems like yesterday I had you cradled in the crook of my elbow. And look at you now! Although there was never a time when you and I couldn’t understand each other, something changed tonight. For both of us. Tonight you seem more mature, and as full of life as ever. Tonight, to me, you seem all grown up. Somehow, losing those teeth just made our conversations all grown up too.

Bulleh Shah’s Reflections

You read and read and master knowledge.
But you never read your inner self.

You run to enter temple and mosque.
But you never entered your heart.

Every day you fight the devil.
But you never fought your own desire.

Bulleh Shah, don’t reach to grab what’s in the sky.
When you havn’t even managed to grab what’s inside your own soul.

The First Day of Spring

Today, after weeks of low temperatures caused by Siberian winds from the East, the snow finally gave in to the warmth of the March sun. From afar, the droplets from the melting snow on the roof seemed to be falling lazily onto the wooden railing on top the fence below.

As March 1st, the first day of spring, was just a few days ago, I wanted to capture this sign of the coming season so I got my camera to get a close-up of the droplets hitting the railing.  What looked like a calm trickle from a distance, turned out to be tiny explosions up close. Every time a drop hit the surface of the railing, it shattered into a thousand droplets spraying the surrounding air, creating a dazzling spectacle of small eruptions of water backlit by the brilliant afternoon sun.

Sunday Blues

The last time I visited this place, was fourteen years ago, almost to the date. Standing here by the edge of the river again, nothing seems to have changed. The trees, the rocks, the water, even the shrubs, they all look the same. The sound of running water and the wind rustling the leaves. The chill of the autumn air on a clear Sunday afternoon. The spruces standing guard along the far side of the river. It all seems exactly how it was, all those years ago, just like yesterday.

Fourteen long years of my life. So much has happened, and so many things have changed. Relocations domestic and abroad, children growing up, me getting older. Sadness, happiness, and sadness. High ambitions, hard work, and lucky accomplishments. Battles fought and victories celebrated. Disappointments small and big. Contentment, and realizations of the realities of life. Some people leaving, some entering, and then leaving again. Increasing distances between hearts as well as minds. Long awaited hellos, and sad goodbyes across vast oceans and layers upon layers of space and time.

It is strange, almost unreal, to think that fourteen years have passed. For me, it feels like a lifetime. For the river, it must be like the time it takes a tear to roll down a cheek. For the wind, a whisper in its ear. The trees have grown older, but all these years are but a short moment in their lifetime of never ending cycles of the seasons. For the rocks, I am not sure it would even register on their clock, as it must be a speck of time in their eternal life among the stars.

Standing by the water, reflecting, contemplating the passing of time, I realize that life will move on, and continue to change. It is inevitable. A fact. Until that last big change. Until then, it seems, I will keep my Sunday blues.