Where the road runs out.

The road bends around the mountain and suddenly there is only sea. Red fishing cabins stand on the rocks, their reflections breaking into fragments on the water.

In Lofoten the weather writes the itinerary. We walk when the clouds lift, stop when the rain arrives, and learn to accept the unexpected as part of the journey.

At the end of the day, we sit by the harbour with salt on our jackets. The light seems unwilling to leave. Neither are we.