The dripping minutes of a summer’s night. Dali’s melting clocks in the back of my mind, as I recall it. The watch hands attached to my wrist heading towards fusion while I kept on walking, leaving the village behind me, continuing another nightly stroll in silence, accompanied by no more than drifting thoughts and nature sounds. Northern nights are lightish at this time of the year. Towering clouds pass by, and sometimes sheep. Four-legged nocturnal creatures, they had descended from another world, as it seems. Or, for all those who are into provability, from the next hillside. Grazing, solo or flocked together, in the middle of the North Atlantic, on an archipelago that has been shaped by wind, waves and weather. The total land area of the Faroe Islands measures up to 1,399 square kilometers, whereas the maritime economic zone covers 274,000 square kilometers. Now. Sticking to the facts: True, I have not seen a sheep taking a quick nocturnal swim across our fjord so far. But when it comes to the dripping minutes of a lightish Faroese summer’s night, the sky’s the limit. Breast-stroke swimming sheep included. The next island is Kalsoy. Strong currents in-between. Further out: Svalbard. The final destination: North Pole. Can you picture the swimming sheep? Close your eyes and remember: Everything is possible. It’s at about midnight. And it’s a Faroese summer’s night.