Zvinyorwa zvakabatanidzwa

The Lysefjord lay motionless below—dark, deep, so still at this hour that it seemed as though the water had simply forgotten how to move. August was dying slowly and beautifully. Only those who have lived well die this way. The old man sat on a rock at the edge of the cliff and looked down. Not wit…

The Lysefjord lay motionless below—dark, deep, so still at this hour that it seemed as though the water had simply forgotten how to move. August was dying slowly and beautifully. Only those who have lived well die this way. The old man sat on a rock at the edge of the cliff and looked down. Not with longing—he just looked. The way you look at things you know by heart and still can’t get enough of. He had known the fjord since childhood—no, even before that. It seemed he had known it even before