The day is lead dark and heavy, TV tells me of unwanted snow,
planes cannot take off or land.
There wasn’t much snow on the flatland of western Norway,
but it was cold, lakes and ponds froze and a bitter wind blew.
I skated round and around till I was inside a white vortex and
the world a blur, I heard nothing alone in the magic stillness
of my breath, now I was free and could fly.
Suddenly the wonder ended, I fell on hard unyielding ice, back
on earth I heard the farmer calling me… milking time.