We spent a day sailing along the beautiful Geiranger Fjord, with its towering mountains, magnificent forests and impossible buildings perched on the hill sides with little if any means of access.
Hand-carved over millennia:
each drop of rain;
each flake of snow;
each breath of wind;
each grain of rock;
etching, forming, shaping
the rugged beauty.
Each seed, embedding itself
into solid rock,
greedily thirsting for life-giving water;
silently growing
to shroud the hills in green -
towering pines standing evergreen sentry,
singing praise to their Creator.
How do trees hold on
To lofty mountain crag-side
But by God's firm hand?
These are just some verses that I wrote at the time, though I was, and still am, aware of the inadequacy of words in the face of such grandeur.
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