CARILLON

When you are in a remote place surrounded by weirdly positioned mountains, you are convinced that even the smell echoes. I hear bells ringing, and imagine a master on the carillon playing Mozart. Gildas Delaporte should come to Eikesdal. While listening to the tunes this morning, I do some stunts on the veranda, don my Gro Abrahamsson's silk dress, and then off I go to chase some sheep. I wonder what happened to my cosmopolitan self, as I let the silk flow freely on my body. My hand under the skirt tells me what I need. And the stones echo: come closer.