Hello.
Thanks for the photo. It's a shame the trees are a uniform mass. Could you take a photo using a longer exposure time? And perhaps the shutter speed a little more closed?

Hello.
Good moorning.
Thank you for the picture
E' uscito un po di sole da questo cielo così grigio---- l'inverno cittadino è un ricordo ormai lontao.

Have you some news???

Hello.
Goor moornig
How are you?

Good evening.
How are you?

Good moorning.
You like music. This song has been with me since 1976.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96bo_uVkZpE

Hello.
How are you?
What is a note if not a moment of melancholy
when you're young and the universe is yours alone

and in your heart live the strangest temptations
and the most tender follies

the music goes on and leaves you sad, sadder and sadder
the music goes on and leaves you alone to die,
how many ways can you call it love?
You fall in love with the most beautiful woman
you'll always remain yesterday's child
looking for a better day

My friend, never leave me alone again
you'll realize that music is neither joy nor pain
but it's more, much more, more
And my music takes you by the hand
and blends into the morning light
like a sweet moonless serenade
runs to open a window facing the sun
and of a love when it's born when it's alive
it will sing you its color, its breath
This music of mine takes you by the hand
with the words you've always dreamed of and that not even you can say anymore
how many ways can you call it love?
It will be a gesture, a smile, a name
it will be A sincere friend
who reflects himself in your poetry
And you are no longer alone in your dream
How many ways can you call it love?
Look for it in the smile of your freedom
Look for it among the pages of your madness
And if you find it, don't let it go
My friend, you will never be alone again
You will realize that life is neither joy nor pain
But it is more, much more, more
And my music takes you by the hand
And blends into the morning light
Like a sweet moonless serenade
Runs to open a window facing the sun
And of a love, when it is born, when it is alive
It will sing to you its color, its breath
This music of mine takes you by the hand
With the words you've always dreamed

That you can't say anymore, not even you, not even you

Good morning.
I slept little last night. The nagging feeling of your problem kept waking me up. Search... search... find... found. I wrote to three newspapers that seem important in Norway.

Aftenposten-----Verdens Gang (VG)-----Dagbladet.

I posted some posts as "discussion." I then sent three emails to editors. Today is the Epiphany. Three Wise Men.
I hope this helps.
A Hugs very strong

Hello.
I'm sorry.
Like many others, I was unaware of what you're going through.
I tried to share your problem on some Norwegian websites so that someone could do something. It was difficult. So I posted your page on some Italian platforms that talk about Norway. Maybe it's no use. But if you don't try...
I created a website with your name where people who read my post can connect to it and read.

Hello.
Howare you?

http://miocloud.ddns.net/Ann/