Fæddur Aftur

It calls to me,
a frigid whisper
upon the winds.
My home.
Of emerald valleys
and snow laden mountaintops.
Of sapphire shores
with ivory teardrops of ice
dotting the horizon.
My body
yearns
for the old ways.
A hunger
that I cannot sate;
a thirst
that cannot be quenched
until I breathe
the invigorating air
of the land of my ancestors.
They say you never truly forget
the old ways;
that centuries of survival
and respect
for the land the gods crafted for you
lay etched in your memories.
That is why
it calls to me,
a frigid whisper
upon the winds.
It demands to be heard.

To be remembered.

~LT