It's been just over a week, since I got back from a trip to the continent. Even though I live in Europe, it was a huge change to be in Scandanavia, the culture, the people, scenery was all hugely different. It was an interesting experience. On the coach back to the airport, I saw a yellow house in the middle of a field of corn. It was an extrordinarily vivid picture of what Scandanavia looks like in one scene, and even though I didn't get a picture, the image is engrained in my mind. I took out a pen, my notepad and began to write : Scandanavian Heart.
Upon the golden sheaves and the golden fields - a little red flag rests upon the hills.
Upon a yellow house it stands,
Isolated from the surrounding lands.
Among the golden faces shon, the golden smiles locks along.
Bungalows still by the edge of the road reside.
Wandering hares glaze boldly aside.
The sweating hawk of the bicycle break, the wavering livey grass, sways with the wind that takes.
Fir trees, the pinewood smell; reminding me of Christmas, and might as well.
Wind turbines rotate and with the birds rejoice. Singing and dancing butterflies around, the larks raise their voice. The Nordic skies and rolling hills, the nature is tamely wild. One does as one wills.
The grinning faces, helping to places. One knows not where to start. Though now I'm leaving not sure to grieving, Alas Scandinavian heart.
