Luyện nghe bài hát Two Paintings by Nikolai Astrup

I no one now
Now I say "you"
Now the ground has opened up
Now after you
I wonder what could beacon me into the rest of life

I can occasional moments
like bonfires burning from across the fjord

In a from around 1915 called
"Midsummer Eve Bonfire" by Astrup
That shines on my computer in 2017 in the awful July night
The house is finally quiet and still with the child asleep
So I sit and the painting of bonfires on the hillside
And smoke in the valleys
Wrapping back up through the fjords at
Offering like scars of mist draped along the
Of couples dancing in the green around fires
And in the below,
the of other fires from other parties
Illuminate the depths and shining and alone
Everyone is and there is music
And a man climbs up the hill
a down to throw into the fire
To make sparks rise up to join the stars
These people in the painting believed in magic and
And all knew loss
And they all came to the

I saw myself in this one woman in the foreground
With a look of desolation and a that looked pregnant
As she against the moss of a rock soft to the side
from all the people celebrating midsummer

I her person was gone just like me
And like me she looked across at the fires from far away
And wanted something in their to say:
"Live life, and if you don't
The ground is ready at any moment to open up again
To you back in
To digest you back something useful for somebody"
And meanwhile the Norwegians dancing in the twilight
The white snow gleamed
You used to me "Neige Éternelle."

The man who painted this girl's big eyes, gazing
the fire into ourselves standing alone
Nikolai Astrup, he died young at 47
Right finishing building his studio at home
Where he probably to keep on
painting his resonant life old age
But people get killed before they get to finish
All the things they were to do

That's why I'm not around anymore
That's why I you that I love you
Does it even matter what we leave

I'm flying on an airplane the Grand Canyon
Imagining strangers through the
wreckage of this flight if it to crash
And would anyone notice or
up my stuff from the desert below?
Would investigate the last song I was listening to?
Would go through my phone and see the last picture I ever took
Was of our sleeping daughter early this
Getting ready to go, and I was by her face
Sweet in the blue light of our dim

Would they follow the back and find her there?
I snapped back out of plane crash fantasy still alive
And I know that's not how it go
I know the actual mess death leaves behind
It just bulldozed in a panic by
the living, pushed over the
Because that's me now, all your things
Resisting the inevitable flooding of the
The scraps distributed by
A work just left out in the rain
But I'm doing I can to
a poor substitute version of you
Made of the fragments and that you left behind
I go your diaries and notebooks at night
I'm cradling you in me

There's another Astrup painting from 1920
Called "Foxgloves" that on the fridge
And I look at it every morning and every night bed
Some have been cut down next to a stream
Flowing through a birch brow in late
And two that look like you gather berries and baskets
over like young animals, grazing
With their red dressed the
white birch trunks interweaving
Beneath the leaves
The three stumps in the
me that everything is fleeting
As if is what I need

But the foxgloves grow
And I read that the first flowers that return to ground
where logging took place
Or where someone like me rolled wailing in a clearing
Now I don't wonder
If it's significant that all these foxgloves up
On the place where I'm to build our house
And go to live in, let you fade in the air
Surviving with what dust is of you here
Now you will recede into the