-       My father went north to Saksun to go camping alone for a few days in July. Upon his return, he told me about an afternoon on the eastern shore of the lake. South-east winds and large waves in the water, the dorsal fins of salmon slicing through currents, and one tremendously large salmon, lunging at the fly but eluding the hook.

I was little, but I dreamt fantastic dreams about the place, which my grandfather and father spoke of with distant, longing eyes. I eagerly wished to be able to experience it as well.

Through fragments, the author reflects on a time that has passed.

People and places are described tenderly. Sometimes in essays, sometimes in memoir excerpts. When the author recalls historical events in Tórshavn, the texts resemble autofiction. This deliberate choice shifts the focus away from the event itself, making it relevant for everyone.

The texts echo Ibsen’s affirmation: “Only the lost is eternally owned.” The key difference here being that “the lost” is understood as that which has gone by – not as that which is gone.