Gåte
Jygri

It's night, but there is still light. Water drips from everywhere in endless cascades that get lost among the rocks, only to find themselves again in the valley and disperse into the fjord. The road left to travel is little now, the summit is near, and the limbs are weary from past exertions. I am at the top. I observe the silence, pleased, sitting on a star-shaped stone with four points. The moss around me is moist and emanates its characteristic autumn scent, but it is summer. The snow has not yet melted, and patches of pure white are scattered among the small shrubs. A sound, a hiss. Distant, faint. Confused with the roar of the waterfall. I sip my water at the edge of the precipice. I am serene, happy, not cheerful but content. I don't know why. The sound increases, the hiss becomes a nuisance. The clouds that previously sketched rosy figures around me now twist into a spiral in the dark sky. I am overwhelmed. I fall down. I lose consciousness in the waterfall. I hear violins scream harshly and guitars envelop me with their metallic sound. The subtle and sweet vibration of piano strings reassures me. I am not afraid, but I am afraid of not being afraid. I am in a whirlwind of Celtic sounds sharpened by rock atmospheres. I feel the timpani beating, rhythmic, marking the rhythm of my heart. I listen to myself in the noise. Suddenly, an angelic voice sings melodies in a language unknown to me, yet it seems I've heard it all my life. It caresses and cradles me.

I faint again as if pierced by boiling ice. The crackling of wood merges with the sound of the record player that continues to spin, even though the record has long finished. It's hot. I observe the floor and wooden walls. Where am I? I feel fine. I don't have my clothes, but I only have a wool blanket on me. It should prick me, but it doesn't; I hate wool, but at this moment, I love it, it pampers me. I recognize a voice, coming from the next room. It’s the same voice I heard in the waterfall. Or was I dreaming? I still can't quite understand. A shadow approaches. It doesn't touch the floor as it walks, and its garment is white and long. The face is delicate, the blonde hair gathered in two large braids. It looks at me with a cold but sweet air at the same time. It sings wonderfully, whispers a melody, Jygri, in my ear while serving me hot coffee and cinnamon cookies. It lasts only a minute... I fall asleep. I wake up. I have headphones and am on the cold sofa of my house in Norway. I listen to Gåte. I listen to Jygri. It's 5 in the morning, and I forgot the repeat was on. Til deg (to you) is almost over, and I am nearly kicked back into real life by the distorted guitars and the claustrophobic start of "Springleik." I want to fall back into the waterfall.