hanne lydia
 

 

 

BELONGING

 

 

My friend was talking about a book. Earnestly. I finally got it as a present. It was about the part of the country where I grew up. About the place I got my dialect from. Where my father was born. A place that is missing a season, where they head straight into summer. Where the icy wind from the North blows as the sun shines. Where the women swear as intensely as the men while they look you straight in the eye. Where the fog is at crotch height. Where it snows on Midsummer’s Eve and it is impossible to light the bonfire. Where the sea flirts before it murderously changes its mind. Where the Midnight Sun prevents you from sleeping, and you are always tired. Where the Northern Lights dance across the darkness in August. Where nature offers you a love so cold and passionate that you never forget. From which I never get any rest, even when I am far away from home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HLOK 2011

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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