Norway, Kingdom of Cold Lights
In the shadow of a fire born long ago in fury, Christiania is gone, reduced to smoke.
Christian IV, king and builder of the fjords, Oslo, the royal capital of the North, rebuilt.
Six hundred thousand souls out of five million, make it a true jewel,
Slottet enthroned like a guardian, beneath the gilding and the flags.
In Bjorvika, within its glass vessel, the opera house offers its roof to the footsteps of passersby,
One hundred and twenty-one beings climb towards the sky the eternal Monolith of Vigeland,
Among the granite and bronze statues, one among many others captures the attention,
Fist and forehead clenched, the child has frozen his anger in eternity.
In the silence of the sacred grove, a meticulously crafted wooden longship,
Carried a noble and sacred queen to the afterlife,
At Bygdøy, the echo of centuries awakens, at the Viking Ship Museum,
Beneath their black hulls, the ships of the past slumber in caravans.
At the Fram Museum, the audacity of the heroes of the ice is celebrated,
Fridtjof Nansen, with the heart of an explorer, left his mark on Fram,
At the Vorma Log-Drifting Museum, the driftwood glides between the rocks,
Retracing the epic journey of men on the shifting waters, guiding the logs.
Near Geiteryggen, the Valdres sparkles beneath its silky snowflakes,
The high plateaus keep their white a secret beneath the skies,
At the bottom of the sculpted valley flows a river of snow and silver,
Flåm, discreet, watches over the water as it races towards its shimmering reflections.
Over the pass of giant snowdrifts towards Voss, between peaks and winds,
We speed to catch the Flåm train with its sloping tracks,
From Flåm to Myrdal, a train climbs, braving the precipices,
Its inclined rails skim the cliffs and the unappealing perils.
At Kjosfossen the train stops, facing the fairy-like veil of singing water,
Before the suspended waterfall roars a torrent of rushing, rustling water,
After the Hardangerfjord the Vöringsfossen waterfall plunges wild,
The Steinsdalen waterfall hides a path beneath its flow where the walker strolls amidst the murmuring water.
Geiranger opened its mountain arms, its waterfalls murmured words from ancient times,
The salty wind caressed the silver fjords, the waters glided by, deep, slow, peaceful,
On the shimmering water, the Seven Sisters emerge, cascades with delicate sails, jewels of the journey,
Then the Sagafjord Hotel, its rooftop gardens nurturing the delicate nature.
Finally, Ålesund, set upon the clear waves, beautiful in the heart of the water,
Reborn from the ashes of a fateful morning, rebuilt without rest,
Queen of the fjord, jewel with a marine heart where the unseen Ouldra River glides over the cobblestones,
Awakening the magic of one of Norway's most beautiful cities, thought to be forgotten.
On the banks of the Nidelva River in Trondheim stands the proud cathedral,
Since 1070, its stones have told the story of a northern people,
Beneath the shadow of the Nidaros vaults, the Lutheran faith,
In this consecrated place sealed the reign of Harald and Sonja, Norwegian sovereigns.
To the north, suspension bridges sweep across, connecting the Lofoten Islands,
At Moskenes, the salty scent of cod dried on well-standing wooden racks wafts through the air,
There, the red rorbu cabins by the sea shelter the dreams of weary fishermen,
At Kabelvåg, a wooden church, built in 1898, has guarded the waters without oaths.
Thus Tromsø the White writes its epic, two peoples composing without knowing each other,
One with bows, the other with sled tracks in the geometric sky,
The sun, sole conductor, holds the baton of eternal summer,
The Northern Lights are sometimes born from the same miracle, from two glances meeting.
The Arctic doesn't say "goodbye," but "forever,"
Our hearts, ablaze with ice, now burn there,
The wind will erase our ephemeral traces,
But the dazzling light will outlive the snowdrifts.
In the secret museum of the Northern Lights,
Our dreamy steps are etched in spirals,
The infinite crystal, guardian of our fevers,
Seals in its eternal cold the warmth of our lips.
Guy says l’Arié…..Joie