Fifth Journey Day 30: Hand on the Wood

Date: June 7, 2025
Location: Bergen, Norway

It rained almost the whole day. It slowed down to a mist for a while in the late morning, but it never rained enough to feel like it was a break. I didn't mind. I walked through Bryggen's narrow wooden streets without needing to go anywhere. The boards under my feet creaked with a softness that felt familiar — like an old corridor remembered from childhood, though I'd never been there before.

The buildings leaned in slightly, as if they were protecting me. The colors have faded to different shades of brown, green, and rust. These colors are less bright because of time and weather. A few of the studio doors were open, but I didn't go in. It felt like enough to pass by, look through the glass, and see the brushes in a jar and a painting on the wall.

There was something calming about walking without rushing. My coat took on the smell of the wood and rain. I stopped at one point and put my palm against a wooden board near the corner of one of the older houses. It was warm from the rain, rough, and grooved — the kind of surface that easily captures memories.

When I got back to the room, I sketched without putting much effort into it. Just marks, not compositions. Mostly horizontal strokes, with sudden vertical lines, like beams and edges, made softer by moisture. It doesn't have any color yet. My fingers were too cold to choose the right pigments.

It's hard to explain how I felt. I didn't feel inspired or emotional. It's perfect. I felt small, as if I were in the right place, and I listened again. The fog never cleared, but I didn't need it to. Sometimes, it's not what you see that makes things clear.

I'm tired in a calm way. The kind of tired that lets you sleep easily, knowing you didn't rush anything.