Sadly, I was unable to translate your poem, but having (in my youth, some 50 years ago!) travelled in your beautiful country, am allowing my imagination to "read" your words. Back then I stayed in a tiny log cabin set in the middle of an orchard at the top of the Hardanger Fjord - looking down to the water from that vantage point, the car/passenger ferry looked as small as a matchbox! It was a glorious experience and I am grateful that the memory lingers to this day. Thank you for sharing your spectacular part of our world.
Yes, it's really a spectacular country! I love the nature around Hardangerfjorden - it has got both high, steep mountains and deep fjords. I'm living, and the picture above is taken, a bit further south.I'll give you, and whoever that would be interested, a rough translation of the poem:nobody whispers with your voicebefore you move your lipslet out the sounds, softlyand warmlike a blanket of silkover my rooma sun beam passesthe window over my beddancingover my duvet coversettles softly against my eyesand I can hear the song,the whispering soundssinging me into the day