Above this little world of men the old Domkirke reared its gray head
The Old Town stood on a wide plain, the fertile marsh between it and the shore, behind it the barren heath, with no tree or shrub to break the sweep of the pitiless west wind. The very broom on the barrows, beneath which slept the old Vikings, it cropped short on the side that looked toward the sea they loved so well.
They were mighty men who built the Domkirke, and went far afield for the stone of which they reared it.
“Suppose the lightning were to strike the house,” said my father.
Ah, well! they were the old days of sweet memories, and here they have come back to me on the wings of the black starling. Who brought him, or how he came, I do not know, but glad am I. And while I am waiting for him to sound his message of cheer and good-will at my window, let me try and hold fast awhile the Old Town we both loved, and from which it must be that he has come straight. Else, why should he seek me out?
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Designed by Slobodan Jelesijević
Released in October 2012
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