Borrowing Time in Balestrand
by Augusto Andres
Our seasons come and go, leaving wakes large and small.
Kingdon and I sit in his wooden fishing boat, drifting slowly into the end of the ever-narrowing Esefjord. Before us, a double vision unfolds—snow-flecked, forested peaks and serpentine waterfalls cascading behind tiny cottages perched near the shore, perfectly mirrored onto the surface of