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| ~ ~ ~ Photos on this page are courtesy of SmyrilLine; GlobalPhotographic; GlobeImages; EileenSanda; Faroese-AmericanBlog; webax.it; iGuideInteractiveTravelGuide; TrentoBike; NorthernStar |
| Music: I Wish You The Past Whispers - Home Old New Orleans Friday's Journal |
| Please don't use the "Send page" feature of your computer to send this entire page in an e-mail, document or PDF format. If you'd like to share it, please just send the link. The link to this page is: http://www.thepastwhispers.com/Faroe.html |
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| INTIMATIONS |
| A photo caught my eye as I was going through an online gallery recently. The location, according to the description, was the islet of Litla Dimun, situated in the Faroe Islands. I had no clue where the Faroe Islands might be. (If nothing else, the internet has done an outstanding job of pointing out my woeful lack of knowledge of the world.) I went searching for information and found that the islands are a self-governing territory of the Kingdom of Denmark. They lie about halfway between Scotland and Iceland. At one time, in very distant history, they were under the control of Norway. The earliest settlers were Norse-Gaels, which explains the islands' Nordic culture and language (modern Faroese having evolved from the Old Norse language). The islands have a high degree of self-governance and many citizens would prefer to be totally independent of Denmark. It remains to be seen when (or whether) this may come about. One thing that isn't in doubt is that the islands are filled with beautiful, dramatic scenery, as demonstrated by the photos on this page, which all came from the Faroe Islands. (And I now know exactly where they are!) -- Nancy |
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| Intimations of Immortality (An excerpt) by William Wordsworth Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, and cometh from afar; Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home. Joy! that in our embers is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers what is so fugitive. What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now forever taken from our sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind. The clouds that gather round the sun Take their sober coloring from an eye That's kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, its fears, To me, the smallest flower that blows can give Thoughts that often lie too deep for tears. |
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