February 6, 2026
I saw this little guy last summer. Me and a friend were sitting on the edge of the Oslofjord harbour, where the ferries come in, enjoying the nice day.
He had a routine. (The only reason I got this picture.) He would fly the entire length of the dock, floating quickly into the wind, intently looking down at the boundary between sea and stone. At the end, he would arc up into the wind, fly back to the start, and do it again.
He did this maybe twenty times before catching a fish, it was well over an hour.
This isn't some linked-in spam-inspirational post about success and effort. I just... think about this bird a lot. More than I should, perhaps, for a little event that happened 8 months ago. There was a beauty in watching him.
I feel lost, sometimes, in our society. It's not bad - I have joy and wonder and excitement. I find happiness in friends and sunshine and laughing until my cheeks hurt. But that forest path I was on - the one that, twenty years ago, was so worn into the ground my feet just knew where to go - has gotten harder to follow. There's grass on it now, and not so many recent travelers. The brush is catching up against my sleeves from time to time and I have to consciously step over roots.
So here I walk, picking my way through my weedy path. It's even quite the adventure. But still I think about this bird. I wonder if he felt joy when he caught that fish, in whatever capacity he had. I wonder if his path was as clear as it seemed?
