Impressions from summer

05.11.14
The sky is pale and unrested.
The birds are singing, or perhaps panicking because they can feel the heaviness of the potential.
The sky has become too big for it's bed.
and every time it rolls over the bed is pressed into our thin atmosphere.
I hear the more than occupational moaning of thunder.
It's a deep moan with the echo of it's own call.  
The birds and I shall wait until what we desire falls.

Brosandi
Hendumst í hringi
Höldumst í hendur
Allur heimurinn óskýr
Nema þú stendur