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Yesterday left my room and donned my large navy coat with the sailor buttons because I didn't want to feel cold at all. Just wanted to be as warm as possible. And then with my ipod and Akron Family playing, walked across the buildings towards the fake soccer fields and then forests.

On my way there, near the outskirts I stumbled upon a miniature version of Jamestown. Complete with its own settlers. Small children on a dirty hill with punctures from where they have dug. The snow is all melted and now instead of ice they are covered in mud and dirt. Dry leaves and trash are scattered near the fence of their colony. And small log cabins where only they can stoop low enough to fit are spaced around a square. There, their overseers watch in panic boredom. And the sun is shining down on all of them with warm faces but sometimes savage. One child would consistently beat a stick on a rock and I thought of apes in 2001. Then there were tire swings. With the couples sharing their time there. One kept looking back and forth at each other. The young boy and young girl with mittens, hats, nylon pants, and mismatched hairdo's. It seemed like a collage of clothes all together. Their parents must dress them hurriedly in whatever clean is lying around and then push them out to the door to the free day-care service.

I stood standing there in the crisp air with spring budding and watched the children. Swing, fight, push, chatter, and laugh. I would have pulled up a chair and continued watching their small society but my legs were anxious and together we moved away.

The ground is muddy and I thought that I should have worn my boots this time. And decided that next time I went for a walk in the forest that I would do so. I found a bridge and the river was rushing past quite quickly. So i leaned over for a while watching the cold melted snow water pour by. I sort of wished I had someone to share it with. But I figured either way, it didn't matter so much. In a blasé sun covered state I walked into the forest and under the bridge and sat on some rocks in the sunlight listening to music. Taking the ear buds out and listening to the water. There were no fish and I wished there were fish. And if there were I would have wished to have that old bamboo fishing pole of mine from when I was a kid in Colombia, going off with my angry Uncle Julian. Showing me exotic caterpillars in the morning, swearing, 'Nino. Right here. These are the secret to catching a giant fish.'

I would nod away and look at the jar and at his giant hands and his face and wonder how he had found out such a secret.

After the rocks and the river I moved again and listened to more music. I had climbed a hill earlier and the whole thing was a giant nest of small brown spiders. Every time I made a step in the hill it would explode in flurries of spiders moving in the brush, leaves and rocks.

I thought,
Maybe,
They would bite.
But,
It was okay.
And I made it to the top of the hill.
Thats how i found the bridge,
In the sunlight,
And it made me want to go to it.
And it made me want to stop feeling like I was,
Which it didn't.
But at least it was a river and the water moving made me smile.

I cut through the forest and crunched along some ice until coming across more muddy paths. So far I hadn't seen anyone and expected all to be abandoned. But later I found out that that was far from the case. Though Norwegians tend to stick to the well worn roads. And their exploring nature, as well as their aggression, has been curbed. Maybe they dismissed it a long time ago with that part of the Viking heritage.

There were some mushrooms along the moss strewn ground. I picked one up and it was heavy. I thought maybe it was calcified. But I wasn't actually sure how that would happen or if its possible. But its patchy red exterior was not fluffy like a mushroom in the supermarket and I thought, well if not that, then maybe its becoming petrified. But that takes thousands of years and I was at a loss and didn't feel like tasting it. I dropped it to the ground.

The lake is past some small fires and pits made by the homeless. Most likely immigrants or refugees running away from the Middle East. They camp out and have long burnt sticks that must poke at the flames at night. I wonder if they daydream about the stars in the desert. If i lived in the Sahara I think thats what I would miss the most.

Moving past those small camps and some more ice, I saw the lake. It is massive and their is one of those well-worn paths that snakes and loops around the entire thing.

Norwegians sunning themselves.
There was an old lady who would stand
In the middle of the last patch of snow that hadn't melted
With her dog sniffing and looking up
And she would start stretching up with her arms
As if she were praying to god.
I thought she was silly but seemed so peaceful.
And it was strange to see all the brown and green,
Mixed with this woman in her dirty red coat, reaching toward the sky with her eyes closed.

I walked the path and passed many couples sharing a stroll. And i wondered if they thought I was strange. In my large coat. Because I had no partner, and I did not have any exercise shoes or equipment on me. Rather, it was all joggers or these couples. So definitely out of place in these converse shoes, jeans, and this large coat. Just milling about like I had no home.

Like a modernist character in one of those books. Yeah! Those books from back then, where the character is just fragmented and trying to piece everything together so he belongs. Thats the sort of image. Maybe one of them--maybe the couple that was standing in a beautiful spot overlooking the still frozen lake. The tall man with scruff on his face and the cute but chubby girl, whose face he was clasping in his hands and kissing and then they looked into each other's eyes back and forth. With sunlight pouring onto them.

Maybe when they looked at me they thought about me being fragmented. I sort of hope they did. I saw them after a while, later around the lake, now holding hands and walking in smiles. But probably they were so involved in holding each other's faces and staring at their eyes. Building bridges between isolated islands that they didn't pay attention to shadows and worn paths.

There was a spot in the forest.
With moss on the ground.
Instead of dirt.
And it was all tall pines trees shooting straight up.
It was straight out of the forest from Kafka on the Shore. Where the soldiers are there;
As shadows, I think. I don't quite remember. Maybe ghosts.
But a forest like that.

I remember, 'Tom do you remember when you told me you just wanted to take a certain
Murakami book and go to the forests of Oregon where your Uncle lives and just read
The book there?'

'That's exactly what I was thinking about when I got off the path and went deep into the forest.
So maybe one day you can go to that spot. Okay?'

And then after all that I walked back from the lake. After having walked around the entire thing and exploring the forest. The last image I remember clearly was the beautiful shade of red that would touch the tops of the trees. And the trees were just budding, so it wasn't their leaves. But an effect of the sun and light on the brown of their tips. So that the sky around them was blue and cold but the tops of the trees were a brilliant red, in afterglow of the dying autumn day.

---
steady.
holding my hand steady.