This ewe and her lamb appear to have a mixed breed thing going on.
This is deliberate. The best mother is given a lamb or two to care for, even if she has lost hers, and even if she doesn’t have one at all. Good mothering has sure paid off for this lamb. Looking well cared for and plump!
The elf, on the left, is facing it down as it approaches, very giant-sized, from the right.
For humans, it’s in slo-mo, but for elves? Probably wayyyy too fast.
It’s one of the things about the height of summer in Iceland: everything comes alive. Lichens give elvish faces to every rock, water moves more mysteriously, and the faces that peer from nearly every rock are more intense. You should have no difficulty spotting many faces in the rocks round this little waterfall on the Stapavík Trail.
Thing is, some of them are more intense than others and hit somewhere very deep inside one’s spirit.
See that yet? maybe? Maybe not? Let’s look again, then:
The elves are never far.
A fun Icelandic game.
Stapavík Trail on the Selfljot
Ogres are a bit like weather. When the sun shines, you see them. “Ah, the ogre is here,” you say.
When the sun doesn’t shine on them, you don’t see them. Then you say, “there’s no ogre.” Either way, though, just imagine getting up every day and checking the ogre weather!
As you can see from this view east from Ásbyrgi, the sun in Iceland manages to concentrate itself into little splashes of light here and there, on most days, anyway. That leaves much of it in stunning darkness.
The best thing to do is just to enjoy the darkness. When else are you going to really see it?
On top of the cliffs at the great dry waterfall of Ásbyrgi, high above the ocean, the tide leaves its pools. The water comes with the rain, and the pools aren’t filled with crabs and anemones, but bog cotton will do.
It’s always a thrill to come across life thriving in hostile places, including here, trod upon by so many human travellers trying to get to the cliff edge without slipping over in the muck. Perhaps the bog cotton is thinking the same thing!
If you’ve ever heard there are no forests in Iceland…
… then it’s time to go to Ásbyrgi.
Forests literally as far as you can see. Oh happy day!
If you’re looking to scry the future from a pool of rain in Iceland, you might want to be quick. The basalt breaks into natural chalices, but it’s also porous and soaks the rain up like a sponge.
If you’re going to be a prophet in Iceland, you need to be quick if you’re using rain, but if you’re using air, well, you have lots of time. Basalt also breaks off into patterns that our minds recognize as faces. These prophecies are prophecies of our moods, but are good for reading what we have noticed on the edge of perception but haven’t consciously formulated yet. The reading helps. This little chalice in Ásbyrgi holds a laughing sheep. It’s faint, but it’s there. It could be a donkey, though. That’s the thing. Prophecies of this kind are never exact! You discover them in the world, when they arrive.
A Farm in Iceland 