The invisible boundaries of Bergslagen, in central Sweden, are defined by the iron ore beneath its surface. The passage of the seasons forms a framework for views of the past, present, and future. Most of the mines have closed down but the traditions of yesteryear still remain. With few words, Song to Bergslagen paints portraits of present and past inhabitants; workers at the iron foundry, children learning to ski, an elderly woman nodding off in a rocking chair. All poetic capsules in time. The heyday of iron-ore is over and another time beckons, in a new age that has not yet taken its form.