Digging up the new roots...

"Are you for sure not coming back after Christmas," asks Ursula with rolled R's. She is Austrian, but the papers are Italian. Italy claimed a section of Austria in the beginning of the last century.
People are leaving Bergen. Ursula's contract is finished, as is Nicholai's.
But, others are here permanently. It seems like an early uprooting (for everyone), but it was wonderful while it lasted.

Ursula plays the violin, is 32, and has been moving around-working temporary positions and gigging since she was 23. Though she claims to "have nothing in life", she can turn a room upside down with laughter and overwhelm Ingrid Bergman's beauty any day. I hope to see her again sometime.

During the last few weeks, cordiality's chrysalis has been shed. A flock of freshly-winged friends flutter socially about. Polite dinner parties have become late evenings after the concert- sitting with wine or soup on the bed, which is Nicholai's and my only accommodating piece of furniture. I made a wreath last week to add a fresh scent to the entryway and elevate everyone's spirit with holiday hints. The mountain has plenty of kindly-needled firs. Our door is metallic, so the wreath is sneakily hung from the inside wall to dangle surprisingly in the air when the door has been opened. As guests depart they are informed that a glance from the inescapable hoop spells a long, happy life. Not living a long, happy life after getting into the hallway is, therefore, near impossible.
When I am home for Christmas we will dig up the young roots of our tree. For a while it will be inside, which doesn't suit trees so much, but afterwards it can continue to grow anew on the property. For people, I think that the roots are the others they bring into their lives. The loved ones. Family or friend. And it makes for a lush life when your friends are just around the corner or just that many more.