It is night, the city is sleeping, the snow creaks as I walk along the Vesterelva River.

It's night, the city is asleep, the snow creaks as I walk along the Vesterelva River, which is lit up by the lights from houses and homes in Fredrikstad.
 Night has cast its cold veil over Fredrikstad. Silence rests heavily over the city, broken only by my own footsteps sinking into the fresh snow. There is a faint creak with each step, a sound that mixes with the distant hum of the river flowing quietly past.
 Along the banks of the Vesterelva, lights are reflected in the black water, small dancing reflections of life within warm walls. The houses lie like sleeping shadows, their windows glowing like warm beacons in the winter darkness. A moon, half hidden behind a thin layer of cloud, casts its silvery light over the empty pier, where the planks are sprinkled with frost and my footsteps are drawn like lonely memories in the night.
 On the other side of the river, modern buildings rise towards the sky, glass facades that capture the night's light and send it out into the darkness. The bridge in the distance lights up like a portal to another side of the city, a bridge between the old and the new, between the past and the future.
 The city rests, but the river lives. It has seen many nights like this, has carried stories from generation to generation. And as I walk, alone in the night, I feel that I too become a part of it, a shadow in the winter darkness, a wanderer along the river that never sleeps.