The fog that drifts over Oslo’s fjords and “comes down like a low ceiling” is “gray,” dawn is “gray,” hair is “gray,” Trondheim is “gray,” birds are “gray,” mice are “gray,” trees are “gray,” clouds are “gray,” suits are “gray,” sweaters are “gray,” scarves are “gray,” underwear is “gray,” old people are “gray,” faces are “gray,” Saturday morning is “gray,” November is “gray,” December is “gray,” spring is also “gray,” the sky is often “gray” and sometimes it is even “grayer than it usually is when it rains.” “Finally,” Long Live the Post Horn!’s Ellinor remarks as the fog descends, “everything was covered in gray.”