Last week we went sailing. Over water that lapped and trembled, all the colours of the sky.
Past clouds stacked like tower-blocks, through a sunset that lasted an hour.
I got to steer. I loved it.
Michael looked rather dashing in his lifejacket.
I looked like a cloud myself.
We had cakes and coffee in the hull. It was great. Reminded me of one of my favourite picture books, where a girl and her little brother go sailing. They even grow plants on the boat. It’s a brilliant story. So adventurous and so cozy. Can’t remember what it’s called. The little boat we were on had everything – a kitchen, a shower, several beds. Sometimes, they sail to Scotland.
We sailed to a town where Munch used to live, Asgardstrand. I guess that means something like beach of the gods. Or, more precicely, beach of the city of the gods. We saw his house. We stood on the pier where he once stood. I thought of his clouds and curves and small dark islands.
There was a rainbow. The first I’ve seen in years.
And the clouds burned all the way home.