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A beautiful postcard from the land of ice.
There must be something in that distant Iceland, something magical in the air that offers delicacy, simplicity, and poetry.
I close my eyes, and it feels like I'm there, among desolate landscapes and cold northern winds, where thoughts can roam without obstacles.
I am enveloped by a delicate sonic tapestry, where a barely whispered childlike voice plays hide and seek among string arrangements and piano strolls.
The room fills with a light blue hue, I smell earth and resin.
A drowsiness starts to envelop me, it's a shy melody that presses without invading, it almost seems to ask for permission, and I have unconsciously already given it free access to my emotional balances.
From afar come the call of an accordion and the caresses of a cello, they are soundless voices, yet I feel they are calling me, it seems they want to confide a secret, but I can't move, it's cold, there's an icy current, so today I decide to remain with my eyes closed under the warmth of the blankets.
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