I walk past this hair salon window masterpiece several times a day and it never fails to get my attention.
The long season is dominating my brain, which has been inventing theories about ice formation in an attempt, I believe, to ward off seasonal affective disorder. The latest is trying to gauge the strength of winter's force by the length and stoic qualities of shaded icicles, which don't seem to melt on even the sunniest afternoon. Glacier territory, people. That is where I now exist.
The figure of KingSaint Olav is everpresent and only recently did I discover that the forboding, towering figure of him smackdab in the center of town was erected as an enormous, functioning sundial. That is, for when there might be some sun here!
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