sunnudagur, desember 04, 2005


Driving over the bridge, there are geese in the distance and cranes up close. The geese are high, high up. They are flapping south, jostling with each other for the prime spots in the flock's slipstream. They are so high up that their bodies are invisible; only the wings can be seen.

The cranes are not so high, though they are way up there, standing very tall indeed beside the bridge. They stretch up from the water, balancing like stilt-walkers in a line, firey red in the afternoon light. They do not move at all. Their cabs are empty. It is Saturday, and their operators are having their weekends.

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